"Nature to nature," continued Ella. "I know I am not unworthy of you, even if you are all you seem. But are you quite sure you will always see as clearly through the outside of things as you do now? Ah! I have heard and read such sad, terrible stories of change, and vain regret for what was irremediable, that I tremble at the thought of what you might bring upon us both. Mind to mind, heart to heart, we are equals; but the accidents of our condition--just look at the difference between them. I am the veriest thistledown of insignificance. I scarce know who I am myself; and might not the day come when you will regret having sacrificed your future to a fancy, a whim? You might be too generous to say so, but do you think I should not know it? If I married you I would love you, and if I loved you there would not be a shadow on your heart, nor a variation in your mood that I should not divine. Do not ask me to love you. I fear it! I am quiet now; my life is not very sunny, but it is free from absolute pain. Be wise." "I am wise," interrupted Wilton; "most wise in my resolution to let nothing turn me from my purpose; and Ella--for I must speak to you as I think of you--do not suppose I am offering you a very brilliant lot when I implore you to be my wife. I am but indifferently off as a simple gentleman, and will be positively poor when I have higher rank. Still, if you will trust me--if you will love me--life may be very delicious. All that you have said only makes me more eager to call you my own. I am not afraid of changing. I have always been true to my friends--why not to my love? It is true that you must take me somewhat on my own recommendation; but is there no instinctive feeling in your heart that recognizes the sincerity of mine? I have listened to all you have said, and simply repeat--Will you be my wife, if you are free to be so?" "I will answer frankly, yes. Oh, stay, stay! _If_ after six months' absence you return and repeat the question--" "Six months' absence! You are not speaking seriously! Do you think I should consent to such banishment?" "You must, Colonel Wilton, both for your own sake and mine. I must be sure that the feelings you think so deep will stand some test; you ought to prove your real need of me by absence, by steeping yourself in the society of your own class--the women of your own class. I have a right to ask this." "By heaven!" cried Wilton, "you are utterly cold and indifferent, or you would not put me to so cruel a proof."