Domestic fiction; Ireland -- Fiction; Land tenure -- Fiction; Landlord and tenant -- Fiction; Landowners -- Fiction
“One word more, Fanny, before we part. You must not refuse me; nor must
we part in this way. Step in here; I will not keep you a minute;” and
he took her into a room off the hall—“do not let us be children, Fanny;
do not let us deceive each other, or ourselves: do not let us persist
in being irrational if we ourselves see that we are so;” and he paused
for a reply.
“Well, Adolphus?” was all she said.
“If I could avoid it,” continued he, “I would not hurt your feelings;
but you must see, you must know, that you cannot marry Lord
Ballindine.”—Fanny, who was now sitting, bit her lips and clenched her
hands, but she said nothing; “If this is so—if you feel that so far
your fate is fixed, are you mad enough to give yourself up to a vain
and wicked passion—for wicked it will be? Will you not rather strive to
forget him who has forgotten you?”
“That is not true,” interposed Fanny.
“His conduct, unfortunately, proves that it is too true,” continued
Kilcullen. “He has forgotten you, and you cannot blame him that he
should do so, now that you have rejected him; but he neglected you even
before you did so. Is it wise, is it decorous, is it maidenly in you,
to indulge any longer in so vain a passion? Think of this, Fanny. As to
myself, Heaven knows with what perfect truth, with what true love, I
offered you, this morning, all that a man can offer: how ardently I
hoped for an answer different from that you have now given me. You
cannot give me your heart now; love cannot, at a moment, be
transferred. But think, Fanny, think whether it is not better for you
to accept an offer which your friends will all approve, and which I
trust will never make you unhappy, than to give yourself up to a
lasting regret,—to tears, misery, and grief.”
“And would you take my hand without my heart?” said she.
“Not for worlds,” replied the other, “were I not certain that your
heart would follow your hand. Whoever may be your husband, you will
love him. But ask my mother, talk to her, ask her advice; she at any
rate will only tell you that which must be best for your own happiness.
Go to her, Fanny; if her advice be different from mine, I will not say
a word farther to urge my suit.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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