"Oh, then, Eugene, the trial would be great, yet we must still trust in God, and abide patiently his good time and pleasure."
"Mary," interrupted Eugene, almost passionately, "your patience indeed exceeds all bounds," and he turned petulantly away.
Poor Mary was cut to the heart by this first manifestation of anything, but the most tender approval on Trevor's part; she exclaimed:
"Oh, Eugene! what would you have me to do?" and the tempter was determined not to throw away the advantage he had thus far gained.
His present object, as may be supposed, was not to have any immediate recourse to the expedient he was advancing, but rather to smooth the way, in case of further exigency. For again with Mary—once more looking on her sweet face—listening to her gentle voice, and feeling the magic charm her guileless excellency never failed to exercise over him, he was as much in love as ever, and determined, whatever might happen, never to be foiled in his endeavours to possess a treasure, whose price he felt, would indeed be "far above rubies."
Nay, he even began to think that he had perhaps been too easily turned from his original design, and was almost ready to accuse himself of weakness and cowardice; therefore to Mary's question, he replied still somewhat coldly.
"I would have you show that you really loved me, by consenting to a step which might, under certain circumstances, be the only means of securing our final happiness. My happiness—that is to say—and your's," he added softly. "I had hoped, dearest Mary, you would also have considered it."
"My happiness, indeed, Eugene; but still deceit of any kind to me is so very repugnant, even in idea, that I scarcely know how I should ever be able to enact it—deceit too of such a grave and responsible character—enacted against those dearest to me. What a return for their affectionate and anxious regard for my welfare!"
"Yes," answered Eugene, somewhat hurriedly, "that tormenting point about money matters, and a few more directly touching myself. But I am unwise, perhaps, in so committing myself," he added again coldly. "Your love of truth, which do not fancy I cannot thoroughly appreciate, may also force you to communicate all that has now passed between us to your friends and relations."
"Eugene, you are unkind," poor Mary murmured, in accents of wounded affection.