"I am unworthy!"
"Nay, Rupert, I know your thoughts! You do yourself injustice. So far as my love can be bestowed on any one, it is bestowed on thee. That I think of Lester as he once was with tenderness, I do not deny; that I now pity and fear him, you need not be told. Still I do confess to you, that, were he Lester now, and worthy of his name, my love would be his did he claim it. But we can never be aught to each other more. Be jealous no longer! 'Tis unworthy thee; and I will henceforth give thee no cause."
"Nay, lady," he said, with seriousness, kneeling and taking her hand, "though I love thee truly and tenderly; though I have loved thee since my heart was first awakened to passion; and although this hand has been the goal of my ambition, and is at length surrendered to me, and is thus clasped in mine, yet I resign it, and here tender back to thee thy reluctantly given troth, and leave thee free!"
"Thou wilt not, then," she said, playfully, after hesitating in what vein to reply, "deign to accept my heart, while one little corner is reserved for the memory of a youthful passion?"
"Nay, if that little corner alone were wholly mine, and the rest were sacred to that youthful love, I should feel myself most happy—most blessed. But not that I may be free, but that thou mayest be, do I make this sacrifice."
"Then it need not be made, Rupert. For it would be also a sacrifice to me."
"Do you say that truly?" he asked, with warmth.
"Truly."
"I am then happy."
"You will not be jealous again?"