“Be it so,” said Helen, trembling, as if nerving herself for a strong and long-looked-for effort,-“be it so, my Lord, and is not my answer wide enough for both? Would not any change, short of a dishonorable one, make the decision I once came to a thousand times more necessary now?” “Oh, Helen, these are cold and cruel words. Will you tell me that my rank and station are to be like a curse upon my happiness?” “I spoke of _our_ altered condition, my Lord. I spoke of the impossibility of your Lordship recurring to a theme which the sight of that thatched roof should have stifled. Nay, hear me out. It is not of _you_ or _your_ motives that is here the question; it is of _me_ and _my_ duties. They are there, my Lord,--they are with those whose hearts have been twined round mine from infancy,--mine when the world went well and proudly with us; doubly, trebly mine when affection can replace fortune, and the sympathies' of the humblest home make up for all the flatteries of the world. I have no reason to dwell longer on this to one who knows those of whom I speak, and can value them too.” “But is there no place in your heart, Helen, for other affections than these; or is that place already occupied?” “My Lord, you have borne my frankness so well, I must even submit to yours with a good grace. Still, this is a question you have no right to ask, or I to answer. I have told you that whatever doubt there might be as to _your_ road in life, _mine_ offered no alternative. That ought surely to be enough.” “It shall be,” said Forester, with a low sigh, as, trembling in every limb, he arose from the seat. “And yet, Helen,” said he, in a voice barely above a whisper, “there might come a time when these duties, to which you cling with such attachment, should be rendered less needful by altered fortunes. I have heard that your father's prospects present more of hope than heretofore, have I not? Think that if the Knight should be restored to his own again, that then--” “Nay,--it is scarcely worthy of your Lordship to exact a pledge which is to hang upon a decision like this. A verdict may give back my father's estate; it surely should not dispose of his daughter's hand?” “I would exact nothing, Miss Darcy,” said Forester, stung by the tone of this reply. “But I see you cannot feel for the difficulties which beset him who has staked his all upon a cast. I asked, what might your feelings be, were the circumstances which now surround you altered?”