Bending over the arm of the sofa, his head resting upon his hand, was
a young man; his eyes earnestly, anxiously, pleadingly fixed upon the
face of his companion, in whose ear, in a full, rich, and passionate
tone, he was pouring a tale of love, hopeless almost to despair. The
girl listened with a saddened countenance, and turning her large eyes,
humid with tears, upon his face, she spoke:
"Richard, I am grieved beyond measure. Oh, cousin, I do not merit your
deep and earnest love. I am an ingrate! I do not return it."
"Do you dislike me?" "Oh, no, no, no, indeed I do not--I esteem and
respect you; nay, more, I love you as a brother."
"Then, dear, dearest Alice, since I am honored with your esteem, if
not blessed with your love, give me your hand--be my wife--and
ultimately perhaps----"
"Horrible!" exclaimed the young girl, leaving the room abruptly.
"What the d----l does that fool mean?" exclaimed Richard Delany, as
an angry flush passed over his face. "One would think I had insulted
her. Colonel Delany's penniless dependent should receive with more
humility, if not with more gratitude, an offer of marriage from his
heir. But I see how it is. She loves that beggarly Dulan--that
wretched usher.
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