“They are looking at us, Frank,”—was her rejoinder—“let us waltz on.”
We had some more turns, “Mabel” still dominant in the orchestra. O that air! I can hear it now, as I heard it then, ringing yet in my ears—as it will continue always to haunt me!
When we stopped again, I repeated my question once more. I was determined to have an answer, good or bad.
“Frank,” she said, hurriedly, “I cannot say anything; I have promised:—I have promised. Pray, do not ask me!”
She spoke with great agitation. There was a tremor in her voice; and, I could see now that the soft grey eyes, which were piteously turned to mine, were tearful and sad. I was mad, however, with love and grief, or I could not have resisted the mute entreaty I there read—to be silent.
“Min,” I went on to say, passionately, “you must now decide whether we are to meet again, or part for ever! You know how I love you now, have loved you ever since I first saw your darling face,—will love you until my heart ceases to beat! But, I cannot, oh! I cannot go on like this. The suspense is killing me:—anxiety and uncertainty are driving me mad! Tell me, Min—dear as you are to me, I ask it for the last time—whether you will promise to be my wife? Only give me a grain of hope, that I may have something to look forward to; something to work for; some object in life? At present, I have nothing; and, my existence is a burden to me!”
“Can we not be friends still, Frank?” she asked, sadly.
“No, Min,” I answered; “I cannot promise any longer what I feel unable to perform. You must be everything to me or nothing! I would lay down my life for you, darling! Won’t you give me some hope?”
“Oh, Frank! do not torture me,”—she exclaimed, in a choking voice—“I have pledged my word, and I cannot break it.”
“Better to break my heart than your mother’s selfish command!” I said, bitterly, knowing, now, how she had probably been bound down to refuse me, should I again offer my love.