“Simply because of your superiority to both,” he replied.
“I do not perceive the point of the answer,” said the young lady. “What has my superiority over both to do with the question?”
The General arose and shut the door. “Do you think you could listen to me seriously for five minutes?” he said.
“Listening is always serious work,” she answered. He took her hand within his; she felt it was the hand of age; the bones and sinews pressed on her soft palm with an earnest pressure.
“Isabel Montford—could you love an old man?”
She raised her eyes to his, and wondered at the light which filled them:—
“Yes,” she answered, “I could love an old man dearly; I could confide to him the dearest secret of my heart.”
“And your heart, your heart itself? Such things have been, sweet Isabel.” His hand was very hard, but she did not withdraw hers.
“No, not that, because—because I have not my heart to give.” She spoke rapidly, and with emotion. “I have it not to give, and I have so longed to tell you my secret! You have such influence with my aunt, you have been so affectionate, so like a father to me, that if you would only intercede with her, for HIM and me, I know she could not refuse. I have often——often thought of entreating this, and now it was so kind of you to ask, if I could love an old man, giving me the opportunity of showing that I do, by confiding in you, and asking your intercession.”
The room became misty to the General’s eyes, and the rattle of a battle-field sounded in his ears, and beat upon his heart.