"Your innocence!" cried Mr. Gregory, now strangely agitated; "your innocence, say you?"
"Yes—my innocence," repeated Markham, his cheeks flushed with a noble pride; "for I can glory in that innocence, and assert it boldly and without fear of contradiction."
"In the name of God, explain your meaning!" exclaimed Mr. Gregory, so excited that he could scarcely draw his breath.
"I mean that I was the victim of the most infernal treachery ever planned," cried our hero; and he then related the whole particulars of his early misfortunes to Mr. Gregory.
"Oh! now, indeed, I can make my proposal to you with joy and honour!" cried this gentleman; "for you must know, Mr. Markham, that my daughter loves you, and has for some time loved you with the most pure, the most holy, and the most ardent affection! But you saw that she loved you—you were not blind to that passion which her ingenuous nature would not allow her to conceal: you knew that her heart was fondly devoted to you."
"And most solemnly I declare," cried Markham, "that neither by word nor deed did I ever encourage that feeling in Miss Gregory's heart."
"I believe you," said the father of that young lady; "for I noticed that you were often reserved when she was gay and friendly towards you. And it was to separate her from the object of her affection that I parted with you as the tutor of my sons; for it was not until the disclosure at the theatre that I learnt the sad accusation under which you had laboured in your early youth."
Mr. Gregory paused for a moment, and then continued thus:—
"I hoped that my daughter's happiness was not altogether compromised by her love for you;—I removed her to a change of scene; and there an accident threw her into the society of a charming family, with whom she passed about ten days. At the beginning of this week I fetched her home to my house in Kentish Town; but I found that she was more melancholy than ever. Her naturally joyous and lively disposition has changed to mourning and sorrow. I have not, however, told her that I am acquainted with her secret: I know not whether she even suspects that I have penetrated it. I have studiously avoided all mention of your name; and she never alludes to you by word. But she thinks of you always! She nourished a flame which consumes her! Now I am come, Mr. Markham, to propose to you the hand of my daughter,—to propose it to you with frankness and candour! I know that the step which I am taking is an unusual one—perhaps an improper one;—but the safety—the happiness—the life of my daughter compels me thus to depart from the usages of society. If your heart be not otherwise engaged—and I never heard you hint that such was the case,—and if you think that the charms and accomplishments of Mary-Anne are worthy of your notice,—in addition to the handsome fortune which my means enable me to settle upon her,—in that case——"
"My dear sir," interrupted Richard, pressing Mr. Gregory's hands warmly in his own,—"you have honoured me with this proposal;—and, under other circumstances, I should have been no doubt gratified—but—it is impossible!"