'Where is the wrong,' said Hargrave, gathering hope from the relenting tenderness of her voice, 'Where is the wrong of yielding to the strongest impulse of nature—or, to speak in language more like your own, where is the guilt of submitting to an ordinance of Heaven's own appointment?'
'Why,' replied Laura, 'will you force me to say what seems unkind? Why compel me to remind you that marriage was never meant to sanction the unholy connection of those whose principles are discordant?'
'Beloved of my heart,' said Hargrave, passionately kissing her hand, 'take me to thyself, and mould me as thou wilt. I swear to thee that not even thine own life shall be more pure, more innocent than mine. Blest in thy love, what meaner pleasure could allure me. Oh yield then, and bind me for ever to virtue and to thee.'
Laura shook her head. 'Ah Hargrave,' said she, with a heavy sigh, 'before you can love and practice the purity which reaches the heart, far other loves must warm, far other motives inspire you.'
'No other love can ever have such power over me,' said Hargrave with energy. 'Be but thou and thy matchless beauty the prize, and every difficulty is light, every sacrifice trivial.'
'In little more than a year,' said Laura, 'I shall perhaps ask some proofs of the influence you ascribe to me; but till then'—
'Long, long before that time,' cried Hargrave, striking his forehead in agony, 'you will be lost to me for ever,' and he paced the room in seeming despair. Laura looked at him with a pity not unmixed with surprise. 'Hear me for a moment,' said she, with the soothing voice and gentle aspect, which had always the mastery of Hargrave's feelings, and he was instantly at her side, listening with eagerness to every tone that she uttered, intent on every variation of her countenance.
'There are circumstances,' she continued, her transparent cheek glowing with bright beauty, tears in her downcast eyes trembling through the silken lashes—'There are circumstances that may change me, but time and absence are not of the number. Be but true to yourself, and you have nothing to fear. After this assurance, I trust it will give you little pain to hear that, till the stipulated two years are ended, if we are to meet, it must not be without witnesses.'
'Good Heavens! Laura, why this new, this intolerable restriction—What can induce you thus wilfully to torment me?'
'Because,' answered the blushing Laura, with all her natural simplicity, 'because I might not always be able to listen to reason and duty rather than to you.'