‘And in the name of goodness!’ exclaimed his uncle, at once surprised and apprehensive; ‘what reason have you to suppose that I was not actuated by my regard for you as my nephew?’ ‘I have never had any, nor have I said so,’ replied Walkinshaw; ‘but you seem to suspect that I may not be so agreeable to some purpose you intend as the obligations you have laid me under, perhaps, entitle you to expect.’ ‘The purpose I intend,’ said the uncle, ‘is the strongest proof that I can give you of my affection. It is nothing less than founded on a hope that you will so demean yourself, as to give me the pleasure, in due time, of calling you by a dearer name than nephew.’ Notwithstanding all the preparations which Walkinshaw had made to hear the proposal with firmness, it overcame him like a thunder-clap--and he sat some time looking quickly from side to side, and unable to answer. ‘You do not speak,’ said his uncle, and he added, softly and inquisitively, ‘Is there any cause to make you averse to Robina?--I trust I may say to you, as a young man of discretion and good sense, that there is no green and foolish affection which ought for a moment to weigh with you against the advantages of a marriage with your cousin--Were there nothing else held out to you, the very circumstance of regaining so easily the patrimony, which your father had so inconsiderately forfeited, should of itself be sufficient. But, besides that, on the day you are married to Robina, it is my fixed intent to resign the greatest part of my concern in the house to you, thereby placing you at once in opulence.’ While he was thus earnestly speaking, Walkinshaw recovered his self-possession; and being averse to give a disagreeable answer, he said, that he could not but duly estimate, to the fullest extent, all the advantages which the connexion would insure; ‘But,’ said he, ‘have you spoken to Robina herself?’ ‘No,’ replied his uncle, with a smile of satisfaction, anticipating from the question something like a disposition to acquiesce in his views. ‘No; I leave that to you--that’s your part. You now know my wishes; and I trust and hope you are sensible that few proposals could be made to you so likely to promote your best interests.’ Walkinshaw saw the difficulties of his situation. He could no longer equivocate with them. It was impossible, he felt, to say that he would speak on the subject to Robina, without being guilty of duplicity towards his uncle. Besides this, he conceived it would sully the honour and purity of his affection for Ellen Frazer to allow himself to seek any declaration of refusal from Robina, however certain of receiving it. His uncle saw his perplexity, and said,--