"I have delayed long, Edith," continued Sir Robert Croyland, after a pause, "to press you upon a subject in regard to which it is now absolutely necessary you should come to a decision;--too long, indeed; but I have been actuated by a regard for your feelings, and you owe me something for my forbearance. There can now, however, be no further delay. You will easily understand, that I mean your marriage with Richard Radford."
Edith raised her eyes to her father's face, and, after a strong effort, replied, "My decision, my dear father, has, as you know, been long made. I cannot, and I will not, marry him--nothing on earth shall ever induce me!"
"Do not say that, Edith," answered Sir Robert Croyland, with a bitter smile; "for I could utter words, which, if I know you rightly, would make you glad and eager to give him your hand, even though you broke your heart in so doing. But before I speak those things which will plant a wound in your bosom for life, that nothing can heal or assuage, I will try every other means. I request you--I intreat you--I command you, to marry him! By every duty that you owe me--by all the affection that a child ought to feel for a father, I beseech you to do so, if you would save me from destruction and despair!"
"I cannot! I cannot!" said Edith, clasping her hands. "Oh! why should you drive me to such painful disobedience? In the first place, can I promise to love a man that I hate, to honour and obey one whom I despise, and whose commands can never be for good? But still more, my father,--you must hear me out, for you force me to speak--you force me to tear open old wounds, to go back to times long past, and to recur to things bitter to you and to me. I cannot marry him, as I told you once before; for I hold myself to be the wife of another."
"Folly and nonsense!" cried Sir Robert Croyland, angrily, "you are neither his wife, nor he your husband. What! the wife of a man who has never sought you for years--who has cast you off, abandoned you, made no inquiry for you?--The marriage was a farce. You read a ceremony which you had no right to read, you took vows which you had no power to take. The law of the land pronounces all such engagements mere pieces of empty foolery!"
"But the law of God," replied Edith, "tells us to keep vows that we have once made. To those vows, I called God to witness with a true and sincere heart; and with the same heart, and the same feelings, I will keep them! I did wrong, my father--I know I did wrong--and Henry did wrong too; but by what we have done we must abide; and I dare not, I cannot be the wife of another."
"But, I tell you, you shall!" exclaimed her father, vehemently. "I will compel you to be so; I will over-rule this obstinate folly, and make you obedient, whether you choose it or not."
"Nay, nay--not so!" cried Edith. "You could not do, you would not attempt, so cruel a thing!"
"I will, so help me Heaven!" exclaimed Sir Robert Croyland.
"Then, thank Heaven," answered his daughter, in a low but solemn voice, "it is impossible! In this country, there is no clergyman who would perform the ceremony contrary to my expressed dissent. If I break the vows that I have taken, it must be my own voluntary act; for there is not any force that can compel me so to do; and I call Heaven to witness, that, even if you were to drag me to the altar, I would say, No, to the last!"