"Come, come, my lord," said poor Clemence, striving to look cheerful, though her tears flowed fast, spite of all her efforts to restrain them, "take courage, you have a great and holy duty to perform. But just now, when impelled by a natural burst of paternal affection, you said that the future destiny of your daughter should be happy and prosperous as her past life had been the reverse, that you would elevate her in the eyes of the world even more than she had been sunken and depressed. To do this you must legitimise her birth, and the only means by which that can be achieved is by espousing the Countess Macgregor." "Never, never! That would be to reward the perjury, selfishness, and unbridled ambition of the unnatural mother of my poor child. But Marie shall not suffer by my resolution. I will publicly acknowledge her, you will kindly take her under your protection, and, I venture to hope, afford her a truly maternal shelter." "No, my lord, you will not act thus! You will not permit the cloud of doubt or mystery to hang over the birth of your daughter. The Countess Sarah is descended from an ancient and noble family; such an alliance is, certainly, disproportionate for you, but still is an honourable one; it will effectually legitimise your daughter, and whatever may be her future destiny, she will have cause to boast of her father, and openly declare who was her mother." "But think not I can or will resign you! It were easier to lay down my life than surrender the blessed hope of dividing my time and affection between two beings I so dearly love as yourself and my daughter." "Your child will still remain to you, my lord. Providence has miraculously restored her to you; it would be sore ingratitude on your part to deem your happiness incomplete." "You could not argue thus if you loved as I love." "I will not undeceive you, great as is your error; on the contrary, I would have you persist in that belief, it will make the task I recommend less painful to you." "But if you really loved me,--if you suffered as bitterly and severely as I do at the thoughts of my marrying another, you would be wretched as I am. What will console you for our separation?" "My lord, I shall try to find solace in the discharge of my charitable duties,--duties I first learned to love and practise from your counsels and suggestions, and which have already afforded me so much consolation and sweet occupation." "Hear me, I beseech you,--since you tell me it is right, I will marry this woman; but the sacrifice once accomplished, think not I will remain a single hour with her, or suffer her to behold my child; thus Fleur-de-Marie will lose in you the best and tenderest of mothers."