Henry was as pale as death, his lip was quivering, and his hand shook violently as he took hold of mine.
"Ellen," he said, abruptly, "do you know that I love you, as much as a man can love,—more than words can express? Do you know, do you feel it, Ellen?" And he wrung my hand with nervous violence.
"Has your sister written to you?" I asked, with a trembling voice.
"She has. What will you do?"
"What can I do?"
"Do you care for me?"
"I am sorry to part with you."
As I said these words, I hid my face in my hands, and from nervous agitation, burst into tears.
"Then we shall never part!" he exclaimed. "Then to-morrow, at this hour, you shall be mine—mine for ever, beyond all human power to part us!—mine, to worship, to adore, to live for, to die for! Ellen, do you hear me? Speak to me! Answer me! Shall this be? Shall it be? Why do you look so pale and so cold?"
"You are raving, Henry, you are raving; you frighten me, you hurt me; let me go."