To this, the maiden, after taking time for reflection, replied:
“I did not hope for a favorable issue to your application. My father looks, I fear, to wealth and social standing, more than to qualities of mind. As I said before, his consent is, for the present, indispensable. The will of another may prevent an external union, although it cannot prevent an union of our hearts. If your regard for me is deeply based; if you can have patience to wait long in hope of more favoring circumstances, then the light you speak of need not go out in your mind.
‘To patient faith, the prize is sure.’
Time works many changes. Have faith in time.”
Albertson read these precious words over twice, and then pressing them to his lips, said,
“Yes! I will have faith in time. I would be unworthy of that true heart were I to give way to impatience and doubt.”
Eunice was sitting alone that evening, just after the twilight shadows had rendered all objects around her indistinct, when her father entered the room where she was sitting. She felt his presence like a weight upon her bosom.
“Eunice! Who is this Albertson?” he asked, abruptly and sternly.
Even from a child, Eunice had possessed great self-control and composure under agitating circumstances. But never, in her life, had she been so deeply disturbed as now, and it required the utmost effort of her will to keep from bursting into tears. She, however, remained externally calm, and said in a low, subdued voice:
“Do you not know him?”