"Wherefore should I not speak them—are they so terrifying to you, Lucy?"
"Can they be otherwise, since they must separate us for ever? Think you that the Lady Houstoun would endure that the creature of her bounty should become the wife of her son?"
"I asked, Lucy, that you would promise to be mine when I had won a right to act independently of the Lady Houstoun's opinions."
"Has a son ever a right to act independently of a mother?"
"Is the obedience of a child to be exacted from a man? Is his happiness ever to be at the mercy of another's prejudices? Does there never come a period when he may be permitted to judge for himself?"
Edward Houstoun spoke with indignant emphasis.
"Look not so sternly—speak not so angrily," exclaimed Lucy. "I cannot answer your questions—but my obligations, at least, are irreversible—they belong to the irrevocable past, and while I retain their memory I can never—"
"Hush—hush, Lucy! you will drive me mad. Is my happiness of less value in your eyes than the few paltry dollars my mother expended for you?"
"Shall I, serpent-like, sting the hand that has fed me? No! no! would I had never heard those words. We were so happy—you will be happy again—but I—leave me, I pray you, for we must part now and for ever—oh! leave me."
"No, Lucy, we will never part—I will never leave you."