"No," said Charles—"no; by Heaven I love you, Flora! I have come to say again all that in another clime I said with joy to you. When I forget you, let what trouble may oppress you, may God forget me, and my own right hand forget to do me honest service."
"Oh! no more—no more!" sobbed Flora.
"Yes, much more, if you will tell me of words which shall be stronger than others in which to paint my love, my faith, and my constancy."
"Be prudent," said Henry. "Say no more."
"Nay, upon such a theme I could speak for ever. You may cast me off, Flora; but until you tell me you love another, I am yours till the death, and then with a sanguine hope at my heart that we shall meet again, never, dearest, to part."
Flora sobbed bitterly.
"Oh!" she said, "this is the unkindest blow of all—this is worse than all."
"Unkind!" echoed Holland.
"Heed her not," said Henry; "she means not you."