Mr Hazlit said this stoutly, and, just as stoutly, Edgar replied:—
“If I were as rich as Croesus, sir, I would not accept her hand without her heart; but, Mr Hazlit, I am richer than Croesus!”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean that I am rich in the possession of that which a world’s wealth could not purchase—your daughter’s affections.”
“Impossible! Mr Berrington, your passion urges you to deceive yourself.”
“You will believe what she herself says, I suppose?” asked Edgar, plunging his hand into a breast-pocket.
“Of course I will.”
“Well then, listen,” said the youth, drawing out a small three-cornered note. “A good many months ago, when I found my business to be in a somewhat flourishing condition, I ventured to write to Aileen, telling her of my circumstances, of my unalterable love, and expressing a wish that she would write me at least one letter to give me hope that the love, which she, allowed me to understand was in her breast before you forbade our intercourse, still continued. This,” he added, handing the three-cornered note to the old gentleman, “is her reply.”
Mr Hazlit took the note, and, with a troubled countenance, read:—
“Dear Mr Berrington,—I am not sure that I am right in replying to you without my father’s knowledge, and only prevail on myself to do so because I intend that our correspondence shall go no further, and what I shall say will, I know, be in accordance with his sentiments. My feelings towards you remain unchanged. We cannot command feelings, but I consider the duty I owe to my dear father to be superior to my feelings, and I am resolved to be guided by his expressed wishes as long as I remain under his roof. He has forbidden me to have any intercourse with you: I will therefore obey until he sanctions a change of conduct. Even this brief note should not have been written were it not that it would be worse than rude to take no notice of a letter from one who has rendered us such signal service, and whom I shall never forget.—Yours sincerely, Aileen Hazlit.”