"Will you forgive me?"
"May Heaven forgive as freely."
"Lady—Kate—dearest Kate! I am about to die. The approach of death fills my soul with wondrous thoughts, while penitence, like gentle dew, has strangely softened my heart. The thoughts of youth come over me like a last-night's pleasant dream, and I feel as I did when we were children together! Can you have forgotten our childhood?"
"Lester, no! Robert, Robert, you will drive me distracted."
"Nay, but did you not love me then?" he said, tenderly taking her hand and drawing her unresistingly to his heart.
"Oh, sustain me, my good angel!" she cried, burying her face in her hands; "my heart, my poor heart!"
"Kate, this world and I have parted, and we soon must part. I will therefore address you frankly. I love you even as I first loved you! You have for years been the spirit of my dreams, the sun of my waking thoughts. Tell me at this solemn hour—see, the dawn of the last morning I shall ever know on earth is streaking the east—speak, and let the thought of it bless my dying hour—do you love me still?"
"Oh, Robert, ask me not. I am betrothed—I—"
"Nay, I ask not for the confession of thy love for me; I look not upon you with human love; but with the feelings of a dying man, who longs for some cheering word to sweeten the draught of death. Tell me, sweet Kate, that you love me still!"
She could not resist the solemn earnestness of his appeal: