"Not Mr. Drummond now, sweetest Christie. I am Willard to you, now and forever. Let me always hear that name in music from your lips, and earth has no higher boon in store for me."
"But oh! can you love me thus—me, a poor, little, nameless, uncultured girl, while you are rich, distinguished, and highly connected. Oh, Willard, will you not, some day, repent this choice—you, who might win the highest and fairest in the land?"
"Repent! never—never! Perish my heart, if it ever admit of any love but thine; palsied be my arm, if it ever encircle any form but this; accursed be my lips, if they ever perjure the words I have spoken now; lost forever be my soul, when it is false to thee!" he cried, with passionate vehemence.
"Oh, Willard! dearest, hush! I do not doubt you—Heaven forbid. I should die, if I thought you could be false to me."
"Speak not of death; it is not for such as you, bright, beautiful Christie. And now, only one thing is wanting, to make me the happiest of men."
She lifted her radiant face with a look of earnest inquiry.
"Christie, one little word from you, and ere the sun rises on a new day, my joy will be complete—my cup of earthly happiness will be filled to the brim."
Still the same earnest, anxious gaze.
"Dearest love, you will not refuse? It will be but a small matter to you, and will make me supremely blessed."
"And that?" she inquired, wonderingly.