"Olivia was very wrong," she said; "she must have known that I should never have consented to such an alternative."
"She only knew, or thought at least, that you loved me; and therefore, as with all her faults, she has a warm heart; she could not probably conceive such coldness in your love, Mary."
The tears rose to Mary's eyes.
"Coldness!" she repeated. "Oh, Eugene! how can you apply such a term to my affection?—coldness in rejecting an expedient which I should think the most extreme, and peculiar circumstances alone could justify."
"To what kind of circumstances do you allude, Mary?" Eugene inquired anxiously, and with recovered tenderness of tone, and manner.
"Nothing fortunately, dear Eugene, which can in any manner apply to our case; we who have only need of a little patience for our path to be clear and plain before us. This year over, and if all goes right, you will not, I think, accuse me any more of having acted coldly in this respect."
"No, Mary, as you say—if all goes right, it will be as well; but supposing that at the end of this year—for, remember that time was specified quite at random, and because I had no heart to name a longer period—supposing that the existing obstacle was unremoved, and that another, and another, and another year were to pass before it were possible we could be openly united—"
"Oh, Eugene!" interposed poor Mary, turning very pale; "and is this really likely to be the case?"
"I did not say it was likely—but it is possible—and suppose it so to be?"
He paused for her reply, and still she answered faintly: