The woman he loved declared herself all his own. She held the sacrifice of fortune as a feather weighed against his love. She was ready to be his wife, unfettered, unburdened by the wealth which had never entered into his views or desires. The loss of that wealth would weigh as lightly with him as it did with her. But could he be so selfish as to take this impetuous girl at her word? Could he say to her, ‘Sacrifice all things for my sake, fortune and duty, your father’s estate and your father’s regard. Disobey and defy your father at my bidding?’ Could he, whose mission it was to teach others their duty, so far violate his own? Cyril told himself that he could not do this thing. He was a man who had built his life upon principle, and though, in this case, passion urged him strongly to do wrong, principle was stronger, and insisted upon his doing right. He asked advice from no one--not even from his cousin Kenrick, who had found out the secret of his heart. This is what he wrote to Beatrix within three hours of the delivery of her letter, hours which he had given to deepest thought:-- ‘MY BEST AND DEAREST,--How can I thank you enough for your noble letter, and for its dear assurance that fortune ranks no higher in your esteem than it does in mine? How can I answer you conscientiously, and with a strict adherence to the hard path of duty--and not seem to answer coldly? ‘If I could answer you as my heart prompts I should say, “Let us begin our life journey at once.” I have no fear of the issue. Were I a fatalist, I should feel myself strong enough to conquer adverse fate, with you by my side. Believing as I do in a Divine goodness governing and guiding all things, I can survey the future with infinite reliance, feeling certain that all things will be well for us if we only cleave to the right. ‘It would not be right, dearest, for me to profit by the impulse of your warm heart, which prompts you to make so large a sacrifice for my sake. You are but just emerging from childhood into womanhood, and you can hardly measure the losses you are at this moment willing to incur. Let us wait a few years, love, and if time and experience confirm your present purpose, most proudly and gladly will I take my darling to my heart, free from the splendid burden of wealth. Let us wait at least till you are of age, and then, if you are still true to your purpose of to-day, you will be justified in choosing for yourself. No father has the right to impose his wishes upon a child where a life’s happiness or misery is at stake, but he has the right to do his uttermost to prevent an unwise choice. Your father has done me the injustice to think me a fortune-hunter. He might be justified in thinking me something less than an honourable man, if I were to take advantage of your guileless nature, which knows not worldly prudence or the thought of change.