Christian life; Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Young women -- Conduct of life -- Fiction
'Very well, sir!' interrupted I, my spirit of impatience again beginning
to stir. 'Enough of my disqualifications for an office which I really
have no ambition to fill.'
'I believe you, Miss Percy,' returned Maitland, 'and that belief is all
that reconciles me to my sacrifice;--therefore beware how you weaken it
by these affected airs of scorn. I assure you, they were not necessary
to convince me that you are not to be won unsought. It was this
conviction which made me follow you even when I saw my danger. I
flattered myself that I might be useful to you,--or rather, perhaps,
this was the only device by which I could excuse my weakness to myself.
In a vain trust in the humility of a woman, and a trust yet more vain in
the prudence of a lover, I purposed to conceal my feelings till they
should be lost amidst the cares of a busy life. Your penetration, or my
own imprudence, has defeated that purpose, just as I begin to perceive
that you are too powerful for cares and business. Nothing, then, remains
but to fly whilst I have the power. In a fortnight hence, I shall sail
for the West Indies.'
I started, as if a dart had pierced me. The utmost which I had
apprehended from Maitland's threats of desertion, was, that he should
withdraw from our family circle. 'For the West Indies!' I faintly
repeated.
'Yes. It happens not unfortunately that I have business there. But I
have dwelt too long upon myself and my concerns. Since I must "cut off
the right hand," better the stroke were past. I have only one request to
make,--one earnest request, and then----' He paused. I would have asked
the nature of his request, but a rising in my throat threatened to
betray me, and I only ventured an enquiring look. Maitland took my hand:
and the demon of coquetry was now so entirely laid, that I suffered him
to retain it, without a struggle. 'Dear, ever dear Ellen,' said he,
'many an anxious thought will turn to you when we are far
asunder,--repay me for them all, by granting one petition. It is, that
you will confide your difficulties, whatever they be, to Miss Mortimer;
and, when you do so, give her this packet.'
'No, no,' interrupted I, with quickness. 'The sum I owe Lord Frederick
is a trifle compared to what you suppose it. It was the price of a
bauble,--a vile bauble. It was no secret,--hundreds saw it,--accident,
mere accident made me----'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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