"Except my own determination to the contrary, my lord," she replied. "I can never be yours."
"Wherefore not?" asked the earl, half angrily, half reproachfully.
"Because I know and feel that I should condemn myself to wretchedness," she replied. "Because—for since your lordship will force the truth from me, I must speak out—I have learnt to regard your character in its true light,—and because my heart is wedded to heaven."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed the earl, contemptuously; "you have been listening so long to your saintly father's discourses, that you fancy them applicable to yourself. But you are mistaken in me," he added, altering his tone; "I see where the main difficulty lies. You think I am about to delude you, as before, into a mock marriage. But I swear to you you are mistaken. I love you so well that I would risk my temporal and eternal happiness for you. It will rejoice me to raise you to my own rank—to place you among the radiant beauties of our sovereign's court, the brightest of whom you will outshine, and to devote my whole life to your happiness."
"It is too late," sighed Amabel.
"Why too late?" cried the earl, imploringly. "We have gone through severe trials, it is true. I have been constantly baffled in my pursuit of you, but disappointment has only made me love you more devotedly. Why too late? What is to prevent our nuptials from taking place to-day—to-morrow—when you will? The king himself shall be present at the ceremony, and shall give you away. Will this satisfy your scruples? I know I have offended you. I know I deserve your anger. But the love that prompted me to act thus, must also plead my pardon."
"Strengthen me!" she murmured, looking supplicatingly upwards. "Strengthen me, for my trial is very severe."
"Be not deceived, Amabel," continued Rochester, yet more ardently; "that you love me I am well assured, however strongly you may at this moment persuade yourself to the contrary. Be not governed by your father's strait-laced and puritanical opinions. Men, such as he is, cannot judge of fiery natures like mine. I myself have had to conquer a stubborn and rebellious spirit,—the demon pride. But I have conquered. Love has achieved the victory,—love for you. I offer you my heart, my hand, my title. A haughty noble makes this offer to a grocer's daughter. Can you—will you refuse me?"
"I can and do, my lord," she replied. "I have achieved a yet harder victory. With me, principle has conquered love. I no longer respect you, no longer love you—and, therefore, cannot wed you."
"Rash and obstinate girl," cried the earl, unable to conceal his mortification; "you will bitterly repent your inconsiderate conduct. I offer you devotion such as no other person could offer you, and rank such as no other is likely to offer you. You are now in my power, and you shall be mine,—in what way rests with yourself. You shall have a week to consider the matter. At the end of that time, I will again renew my proposal. If you accept it, well and good. If not, you know the alternative." And without waiting for a reply, he quitted the room.