'Nay, nay; say that you love me—that you will marry me,' said I, in a whisper; 'speak, Nicola, speak! for this suspense and silence are torture!'
'It may not, cannot be; our ranks in life are unequal, and our paths lie far apart.'
'Love, marriage will make them one.'
'Never!' she replied, in a broken voice; 'our paths in life must, I repeat, lie far, far apart.'
'Nicola!'
'I am but a poor little soubrette, a penniless girl of humble origin; and how would your proud Scottish kinswomen, with all their crests and quarterings, receive me, if they knew of this?'
'It can never be known, Nicola; and as the wife of my heart, the lady of Blanerne, I can find strong hands and steel blades enough in Glenkens to force the proudest peer in Scotland to vail his bonnet to you!'
'Force him! and this is one item of the happiness you would offer me. That I love you, monsieur,' said she, weeping,' let these hot tears attest, but cease to speak more of love or of marriage to me. Such visions can never be realized; I could never brook the humiliation you would prepare for me; for I have much of pride and hauteur in my heart—albeit, you deem me so timid, meek, and gentle. I will strive to be your friend; but this love I shall conquer, crush, forget perhaps.'
'When?'
'When we separate;—alas! I cannot hope to achieve this fatal end while I remain with you.'