"I would sacrifice all, everything for you," cried Ida Mara, eagerly. "I never, never wish to quit you."
"Hear me, Ida, hear me," said Sir Harry West; "your sense of duty and gratitude I know is unbounded, but the time may come when you will find some one to love----"
"No," answered Ida; "no, I shall never love any one but you. If you send me from you, I shall die;" and sinking down into a chair, with a pale cheek and a quivering lip, she covered her eyes with her hand.
"What is the matter, dear Ida?" said the Knight, tenderly. "You seem ill; what is it that you feel?"
"I do not know--I do not know," she answered. "Oh, leave me, Sir Harry, and tell this gentleman that I grieve I cannot return his affection."
"He is gone, Ida," answered the Knight; "but I have promised to write to him. If I merely say that you cannot return his affection, he will ask to be permitted to pursue his suit."
"Oh no, no!" cried Ida, clasping her hands, "he must not,--I cannot,--tell him--tell him----"
"Tell him what?" asked Sir Harry West, not a little agitated himself. "Shall I tell him that you love another?" he added, in a low and serious voice.
The crimson again rushed into her face, and she paused for a moment, casting down her eyes. Then, raising them suddenly, she exclaimed, in Italian, with all the wild vehemence which, derived from her nation and the climate of her birth, had characterized her demeanour, before she had passed through so many scenes of sad and wearing anxiety.
"Yes, yes!--Tell him I love another!"