Hargrave's eyes flashed fire, while his countenance faded to ghastly paleness. 'Yes;' he exclaimed, 'cold, pitiless, insensible woman--yes I renounce you. In the haunts of riot, in the roar of intemperance, will I forget that form, that voice--and, when I am lost to fame, to health, to usefulness--my ruin be on your soul.' 'Oh! Hargrave,' cried the trembling Laura, 'talk not so wildly; Heaven will hear my prayers for you.--Amidst the pursuits of wisdom--amidst the attractions of others, you will forget me.' 'Forget you! Never. While I have life, I will follow you--supplicate--persecute you.--Mine you shall be, though infamy and death ensue. Dare not,' said he, grasping her arm,--'dare not to seek the protection of another.--Dare but to give him one smile, and his life shall be the forfeit.' 'Alas! Alas!' cried Laura, wringing her hands in anguish, 'this is real frenzy. Compose yourself, I implore you--there is no other--there never can be'-- Her tears recalled Hargrave to something like composure. 'Dearest Laura,' said he, 'I wish to soften--I only terrify you. Fear not, beloved of my soul--speak to me without alarm. I will hear you, if it be possible, with calmness--but say not, oh! say not, that you reject me!' Laura averted her face. 'Why prolong this distressing interview,' said she,--'You have heard my determination. I know that it is right, and I cannot relinquish it.' The triumph of self-conquest gave firmness to her voice; and Hargrave, driven again from composure by her self-command, sprang from her side. 'It is well, Madam,' he cried; 'triumph in the destruction of my peace; but think not I will so tamely resign you. No; by Heaven. I will go this moment to your father--I will tell him my offence; and ask if he thinks it deserves such punishment. Let him take my life--I abhor it.' 'Is your promise, then, of such small avail?' said Laura, sternly.