“What matters it?” repeated the young merchant, in accents of despair,—"it matters much. Drowning love will cling to straws. The thought that I was beloved by you, though I could never hope to possess your hand, reconciled me in some degree to my fate. But now,” he added, covering his face with his hands,—"now, my heart is crushed.”
“Nay, say not so,” cried Viviana, in a voice of the deepest emotion. “I do love you,—as a sister.”
“That is small comfort,” rejoined Chetham, bitterly. “I echo your own wish. Would we had never met again! I might, at least, have deluded myself into the belief that you loved me.”
“It would have been better so,” she returned. “I would inflict pain on no one—far less on you, whom I regard so much, and to whom I owe so much.”
“You owe me nothing, Viviana,” rejoined Chetham. “All I desired was to serve you. In the midst of the dangers we have shared together, I felt no alarm except for your sake. I have done nothing—nothing. Would I had died for you!”
“Calm yourself, sir, I entreat you,” she returned.
“You did love me once?” demanded Chetham, suddenly.
“I thought so,” she answered.
The young merchant uttered an exclamation of anguish, and a mournful pause ensued, broken only by his groans.
“Answer me, Viviana,” he said, turning abruptly upon her,—"answer me, and, in mercy, answer truly,—do you love another?”