“You, you alone, can be the cause of my salvation,” exclaimed the youth, with enthusiastic passion. “Donna Agnes, I love you.”
“In mercy to yourself—to me, do not say so,” faltered the young lady.
“My spirit would not rest, when I am in the grave, had I not declared the love I bear you,” exclaimed the Secretary.
“Oh no, no; it must not be thus! Say you will not utter those words again, and I will endeavour to forget what you have said. You cannot know my father, if you think that he would let me listen to such declarations,” answered Donna Agnes.
“I know him well—he has ever been my benefactor, and I would show my gratitude,” responded the youth.
“Then, as you value his favour, do not renew this conversation. It has caused me much pain already,” said Donna Agnes.
“I cannot longer conceal the consuming love I feel for you,” exclaimed the Secretary. “Can you, in return, hate me for it?”
“Oh no, no,” responded Donna Agnes.
“Will you, can you love me, then?” exclaimed the youth. “Will you grant me but one hope to endure existence?”
The colour forsook the fair cheek of the Minister’s daughter; her bosom heaved, and her eyes sunk to the ground.