“God forbid you should be otherwise than what you seem to me—noble, grand, beautiful, rare among men! Oh, Maurice! you know not how I esteem—how I love you!”
“Not more than I esteem and love you. It is that very esteem that now counsels me to a separation.”
“A separation?”
“Yes, love; but it is to be hoped only for a short time.”
“How long?”
“While a steamer can cross the Atlantic, and return.”
“An age! And why this?”
“I am called to my native country—Ireland, so much despised, as you already know. ’Tis only within the last twenty hours I received the summons. I obey it the more eagerly, that it tells me I shall be able soon to return, and prove to your proud father that the poor horse-hunter who won his daughter’s heart—have I won it, Louise?”
“Idle questioner! Won it? You know you have more than won it—conquered it to a subjection from which it can never escape. Mock me not, Maurice, nor my stricken heart—henceforth, and for evermore, your slave!”
During the rapturous embrace that followed this passionate speech, by which a high-born and beautiful maiden confessed to have surrendered herself—heart, soul, and body—to the man who had made conquest of her affections, there was silence perfect and profound.