"My God, my child will die!" exclaimed Vere, the feelings of nature
overcoming, even in HIS breast, the sentiments of selfish policy; "look
up, Isabella--look up, my child--come what will, you shall not be
the sacrifice--I will fall myself with the consciousness I leave you
happy--My child may weep on my grave, but she shall not--not in this
instance--reproach my memory." He called a servant.--"Go, bid Ratcliffe
come hither directly."
During this interval, Miss Vere became deadly pale, clenched her hands,
pressing the palms strongly together, closed her eyes, and drew her lips
with strong compression, as if the severe constraint which she put upon
her internal feelings extended even to her muscular organization. Then
raising her head, and drawing in her breath strongly ere she spoke, she
said, with firmness,--"Father, I consent to the marriage."
"You shall not--you shall not,--my child--my dear child--you shall not
embrace certain misery to free me from uncertain danger."
So exclaimed Ellieslaw; and, strange and inconsistent beings that we
are! he expressed the real though momentary feelings of his heart.
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