“I will not submit to be thus interrogated,” said Winifred, angrily.
“In the name of your lamented parent, whose memory I shall for ever revere, I implore you to answer me,” urged Kneebone, “why—why would you not accept him?”
“Because our positions are different,” replied Winifred, who could not resist this appeal to her feelings.
“You are a paragon of prudence and discretion,” rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. “Disparity of rank is ever productive of unhappiness in the married state. When Captain Darrell's birth is ascertained, I've no doubt he'll turn out a nobleman's son. At least, I hope so for his sake as well as my own,” he added, mentally. “He has quite the air of one. And now, my angel, that I am acquainted with your sentiments on this subject, I shall readily fulfil a promise which I made to your lamented parent, whose loss I shall ever deplore.”
“A promise to my mother?” said Winifred, unsuspiciously.
“Yes, my angel, to her—rest her soul! She extorted it from me, and bound me by a solemn oath to fulfil it.”
“Oh! name it.”
“You are a party concerned. Promise me that you will not disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of us ever revere. Promise me.”
“If in my power—certainly. But, what is it! What did you promise?”
“To offer you my heart, my hand, my life,” replied Kneebone, falling at her feet.