“I have always thought of you with the truest affection, dear child. But latterly you have never been out of my thoughts.” She ceased her work and looked towards him gratefully--attentively. He left his seat and went to her side. “My sweet Jessamy Bride,” said he, “I have thought of your future with great uneasiness of heart. I feel towards you as--as--perhaps a father might feel, or an elder brother. My happiness in the future is dependent upon yours, and alas! I fear for you; the world is full of snares.” “I know that,” she quietly said. “Ah, you know that I have had some experience of the snares. If you had not come to my help what shame would have been mine!” “Dear child, there was no blame to be attached to you in that painful affair,” said he. “It was your tender heart that led you astray at first, and thank God you have the same good heart in your bosom. But alas! 'tis just the tenderness of your heart that makes me fear for you.” “Nay; it can become as steel upon occasions,” said she. “Did not I send Colonel Gwyn away from me?” “You were wrong to do so, my Mary,” he said. “Colonel Gwyn is a good man--he is a man with whom your future would be sure. He would be able to shelter you from all dangers--from the dangers into which your own heart may lead you again as it led you before.” “You have come here to plead the cause of Colonel Gwyn?” said she. “Yes,” he replied. “I believe him to be a good man. I believe that as his wife you would be safe from all the dangers which surround such a girl as you in the world.” “Ah! my dear friend,” she cried. “I have seen enough of the world to know that a woman is not sheltered from the dangers of the world from the day she marries. Nay, is it not often the case that the dangers only begin to beset her on that day?” “Often--often. But it would not be so with you, dear child--at least, not if you marry Colonel Gwyn.” “Even if I do not love him? Ah! I fear that you have become a worldly man all at once, Dr. Goldsmith. You counsel a poor weak girl from the standpoint of her matchmaking mother.” “Nay, God knows, my sweet Mary, what it costs me to speak to you in this way. God knows how much sweeter it would be for me to be able to think of you always as I think of you know--bound to no man--the dearest of all my friends. I know it would be impossible for me to occupy the same position as I now do in regard to you if you were married. Ah! I have seen that there is no more potent divider of friendship than marriage.” “And yet you urge upon me to marry Colonel Gwyn?” “Yes--yes--I say I do think it would mean the assurance of your--your happiness--yes, happiness in the future.”