"Yes truly," he responded with a still more sorrowful and earnest interest, as he marked the glowing cheek and unwonted excitement of the loved enquirer; "but the tares unhappily in that cursed ground--cursed for man's guilty sake!--too much preponderate, and those springing up, choke the wheat till even _they_ become unfruitful. But, oh, Miss Seaham! am I answered now? The words, the acknowledgement you have just made are they the vehicles you have chosen, by which to convey your final rejection of that which I have dared to proffer, for if not, here is a hand and heart as ready and willing--if possible ten times more eager--to be allowed to guide and guard you through those dangerous paths you desire to tread. Think not that I will shrink from turning back even to that world I have so condemned; if it be to walk by your side--to protect--to guide--to guard you there. Yes," he murmured to himself, whilst some strong emotion evidently struggled for mastery, as the idea suggested itself to his imagination, and again his cheek became deadly pale. "For her sweet sake--with such an angel by my side--what could I not brave, what could I not encounter? Even thou, mine enemy! thou and thine insidious unnatural machinations!" Then recollecting himself, Mr. Temple turned in some alarm, lest his half muttered soliloquy might have created unpleasant surprise in the mind of her he was so anxious to propitiate. But his fear was groundless. Mary Seaham, too much engrossed by the more apparent subject of his discourse, so completely absorbing her attention, heeded not the mysterious tendency of these latter words, and when recollecting himself, he again paused in breathless enquiry; she could only shake her head, and with averted face and downcast eyes, sorrowfully confess her unworthiness, and her rejection of such distinguished favour as had been shown her by his offer. Then in other words more clear and explicit, she faltered forth sentences which tended slowly and sadly to convey with certainty to Mr. Temple's mind--and what to him were the others feelings, bowing down the young girl's heart before him as before a superior being--that the one feeling he required was wanting there--the love which alone could crown his hopes--induce her to become his wife. A dreary pause ensued. It might have seemed that even nature sympathized in the disappointment of one human heart, so hushed and still was all around. The silence was broken by Mr. Temple. His voice had recovered the wonted calm of its low, deep accents as thus he spoke: