"And, Richard," she said, "I have gone perhaps beyond what maiden modesty would warrant. I have told--I have shown you--how I love you. But you will not, I think, misunderstand or blame me; first, because I am, as you know, a wild, untutored girl, accustomed to speak frankly whatever thought, or fancy, or feeling, crosses my brain or heart; and, secondly, because this is an occasion in which concealment would be wrong to me and wrong to you--when I must tell you how I love you in order that you may see how terrible is the sacrifice of that love to duty." "I do not misunderstand you, dear Bessy," I answered; "I will try to be more calm, more reasonable. You have said that I shall be the arbiter. When will you give me the explanations which will enable me to be so rightly? At present I can conceive no cause, I can imagine no possible motive, why you should not be my wife; and I fondly hope and trust that when all is explained, I can remove every doubt and scruple from your mind. But I promise you, my beloved, that if I see a reasonable motive, a just and righteous cause, I will endeavour by no sophistry to persuade you against your better judgment. I will endeavour to think for Bessy Davenport as I would think for myself, were my mind free and without passion. But, dearest Bessy, make the time short; tell me when you will give the whole explanation." "Oh, Richard," she answered, with a mournful shake of the head, "I would fain give time for both you and myself to think deliberately. I may be wrong in the view I take at present, and I am certain you would be wrong if you were to decide now. Well, well, within three months, I will write to you the whole, and enclose you the old letter which I received two nights ago. After you know all, you shall wait a fortnight, a full fortnight, before you decide, and then your decision shall be final. I will say not one word against it; you shall command, and I will obey." "My commands shall not be very hard, Bessy," I answered; "for though you think so very ill of mankind, if I have the slightest knowledge of my own spirit, I would rather insure your happiness than mine. If we must live as brother and sister, without a dearer tie, so be it." "Oh, thank you, thank you, Richard," she answered; "those words relieve my mind of a great weight. I see you will have consideration for me." "I will, indeed," I replied. "But now tell me, beloved, how are we to pass the intermediate time?" "I have determined," she said, "to go over to my uncle Henry's, and to remain there with him. I have already told my maid to have everything in readiness, and have written for my uncle to come for me to-morrow." She paused for a moment, and then added,--"But you will let me see you from time to time, will you not, Richard? There can be no harm in that. We are not parted by inclination, but by fate."