"Rosa," he said, after a pause, "I, too, believe that Ida still lives. Do you love her well enough to make a sacrifice for the sake of recovering her?"
"What sacrifice?" she asked, fixing her eye upon him.
"A sacrifice of your feelings."
"Explain. You speak in enigmas."
"Listen, then. I have already told you that I, too, believe Ida to be living. Indeed, I have lately come upon a clew which I think will lead me to her. Withdraw the opposition you have twice made to my suit, promise me that you will reward my affection by your hand if I succeed, and I will devote myself to the search for Ida, resting not day or night till I have placed her in your arms. This I am ready to do. If I succeed, may I claim my reward?"
"What reason have you for thinking you would be able to find her?" asked Mrs. Clifton, with the same inexplicable manner.
"The clew that I spoke of."
"And are you not generous enough to exert yourself without demanding of me this sacrifice?"
"No, Rosa," he answered, firmly, "I am not unselfish enough. I have long loved you. You may not love me; but I am sure I can make you happy. I am forced to show myself selfish, since it is the only way in which I can win you."
"But consider a moment. Put it on a different ground. If you restore me my child now, will not even that be a poor atonement for the wrong you did me seven years since"—she spoke rapidly now—"for the grief, and loneliness, and sorrow which your wickedness and cruelty have wrought?"