"Ellen, what can I do for you? what would you have with me?" he said, passing his arm around her waist.
She drew hastily away from his embrace, and turning upon him her tearful eyes, exclaimed, "If you touch me under the influence of the sentiment that made you purchase my only jewel, lay not a finger on me—defile me not—let my sorrows make my person sacred! But if you entertain one spark of feeling—one single idea of honour, do me justice—resign me not to despair!"
"Do you justice, Ellen?"
"Yes—do me justice; for I was pure and spotless till want and misery threw me into your arms," continued Ellen, in an impassioned tone; "and if I sinned—if I surrendered myself up to him who offered me a price—it was only that I might obtain bread—bread for my poor father!"
"Ellen, what would you have me do?"
"What would I have you do!" she repeated, bitterly: "oh! cannot you comprehend what I would have you do to save my honour? It is in your power to restore me to happiness;—it is you who this day—this hour—must decide my doom! You ask me what I would have you do? Here, upon my knees I answer you—here, at your feet I implore you, by all your hopes of prosperity in this world and salvation in the next—by all you bold dear, solemn, and sacred—I implore you to bestow a father's honourable name upon the child which I bear in my womb!"
She had thrown herself before him—she grasped his hands—she bedewed them with her tears—she pressed them against her bosom that was convulsed with anguish.
"Rise, Ellen—rise," exclaimed Greenwood: "some one may come—some one may—"
"Never will I rise from this position until your tongue pronounces my fate!"
"You do not—you cannot mean——"