With one hand he rapidly swept the board of its occupants, while the other he extended toward Julia, saying: "Take it. 'Tis all I can offer, for you well know I have no heart to give. My hand and name you have won—they are yours."
A person less intriguing or determined than Julia would have scorned to receive a hand so coldly offered. But not so with her. She did not expect any protestations of love, for she knew he felt none. Yet she was hardly satisfied, and resolved upon one movement more ere she accepted what she felt was reluctantly given.
"You are mistaken in me," said she, "if you think I will play for a husband, and then expect him to comply with the terms unless he chooses to do so."
Dr. Lacey replied, "When I consented to play, I knew what I was about, and I knew, too, that you love me. I cannot say the same to you in return, but you are far from being indifferent to me. When I first knew you I disliked you, for I believed you to be passionate, jealous and designing; nor do I think my opinion of you then was wrong; but you are changed, very much changed. Continue to be what you are now, and we may be happy, for I may learn to love you, but never as fondly, as madly, as I loved your sister; ay, as I could love her again; but enough of this. She was false; she deceived me, and now I will wed you."
And what said Julia to all this? Why, she sat bolt upright, listening attentively while Dr. Lacey expressed his former and present opinion of her. When he had finished, she ventured to acknowledge her love for him; said she had always loved him, and that as his wife she would try to make him happy. Perhaps she was sincere in this, for she did love Dr. Lacey as well as her selfish nature would suffer her to love any one, and she had resolved, if she ever married him, to do all in her power to atone, if possible, for the past.
A half hour longer they conversed of the future, and arranged [pg 204] the plan, which Julia next day wrote to her sister. At last Dr. Lacey exclaimed, "Come, Julia, you must go now; it is getting late, for see,"—pointing to the little clock; but as if astonished at what it had heard, the clock had stopped!