"Lawrence Dunbar!" said Mary, in a quick, emphatic voice, "speak out plainly! There is, of course, a reason for your prolonged absence, and your present coldness. That reason I have a right to know, and I claim an avowal of it now."
Lawrence still exhibited embarrassment, and made one or two ineffectual attempts to speak.
"You have ceased to love me," said Mary.
"I—I—Mary. No. I—I can never cease to lo—love you. But—"
"But what?" The maiden's voice was quick and sharp, while her eyes, usually so mild in their expression, flashed with an indignant light.
"A marriage contract is a serious matter, and should not be entered into, except after the maturest deliberation. I see now that in the ardency of youth I mistook mere passion for—"
"Lawrence Dunbar! Say no more. You are free, if that is what you want."
"I—I, Mary! Do not doubt that I loved you sincerely. But a wide intercourse with the world, and—"
"Say no more! Say no more, in Heaven's name! I have told you that you were free."
"But I would not part in anger, Mary. If I erred it was from weakness. Your beauty, your grace, your loveliness of charac—"