He felt his fortitude and strength fast leaving him. Amidst the fondest caresses, he said— “My own dear India! how have I merited such love? My India, I will not stay so long as I said. I will not stay till I have won fame or fortune. I cannot remain away so long. But as soon as I have won a modest competence—in a year or two—I will be back to claim my blessing.” Her tears fell like rain. Still she clasped, and pressed, and kissed his neck, and said that would not do at all; he must not leave her—no, not for a week; she could not, would not, bear it; she should die. He kissed away her tears, fast as they fell, and then proposed again that she should go with him, promising to do more than man ever did, or even could do, to shield her from hardship till all hardship should be over, as it surely would be in time. With a few deep-drawn sighs, she lifted up her head, and answered, No, she could not go; she was far too delicate to bear such a change; he ought to know it, and ought not to ask it. _No, if he loved her_, he must give up his project, and stay with her; _and if he did love her_, he surely would do it. Any man that really loved would do that much for his lady. She was evidently merging from her tender, alluring mood, into an irritable and capricious one. Full of doubt and trouble at her words, he answered— “My dearest India, I told you that this purposed action of mine is a measure of conscience. You know it involves an immense sacrifice. Do you suppose that I would make that sacrifice, except from the most righteous principles, and do you suppose I can possibly abandon such principles? My India, if from my great love for you I could now sacrifice my conscience to your convenience, you would soon lose all esteem for me, and, in losing all esteem, lose all comfort in loving me. My India, no honourable woman can continue to love a man who has forfeited his own and her respect. Do you not know that?” Coldly she put away his encircling arms—coldly she withdrew herself from him, saying— “I see how it is, sir! You do not love me; you are faithless; you seek an excuse to break with me, by putting our union upon conditions impossible for me to comply with. You need not have taken such a crooked path to a plain end, sir; you needed only to have frankly named your wish, to have had your plighted troth restored. You are free, sir——to unite yourself with one of the favoured race, the objects of your manifest preference, if you please”—— This last, most insulting clause was cast at him with a glance of insufferable scorn, as she turned to leave the room. His brow crimsoned with the sudden smite of shame, and— “_This from you, India!_” he exclaimed. She was looking at him still; but the scorn and anger slowly passed from her face, as he rose and advanced towards her, saying— “But you are excited; I will not lay your bitter words to heart, nor suffer you to leave me in anger. Dearest India!”