The only possible way out of our difficulty that I could see, now occurred to me. “Suppose my sister can be prevailed on to give you up?” I suggested. “Would you come back to us in that case?”
“Certainly!”
“And you would ask my father to consent to our marriage?”
“On the day of my return, if you like.”
“Suppose obstacles get in our way,” I said—“suppose time passes and tries your patience—will you still consider yourself engaged to me?”
“Engaged to you,” he answered, “in spite of obstacles and in spite of time.”
“And while you are away from me,” I ventured to add, “we shall write to each other?”
“Go where I may,” he said, “you shall always hear from me.”
I could ask no more, and he could concede no more. The impression evidently left on him by Eunice’s terrible outbreak, was far more serious than I had anticipated. I was myself depressed and ill at ease. No expressions of tenderness were exchanged between us. There was something horrible in our barren farewell. We merely clasped hands, at parting. He went his way—and I went mine.
There are some occasions when women set an example of courage to men. I was ready to endure whatever might happen to me, when I got home. What a desperate wretch! some people might say, if they could look into this diary!