“One word more, Rose. Dearest Rose! one Women Toms Classic more!” cried Harry,
throwing himself before her. “If I had been less—less fortunate,
the world would call it—if some obscure and peaceful life had
been my destiny—if I had been poor, sick, helpless—would you
have turned from me then? Or has my probable advancement to
riches and honour, given this scruple birth?”
“Do you press me to reply,” answered Rose. “The question does
not arise, and never will. It is unfair, almost unkind, to urge it.”
“If your answer be what I almost dare to hope it is,” retorted
Harry, “it will shed a gleam of happiness upon my lonely way, and
light the path before me. It is not an idle thing to do so much, by
the utterance of a few brief words, for one who loves you beyond
all else. Oh, Rose! in the name of my ardent and enduring
attachment; in the name of all I have suffered for you, and all you
doom me to undergo; answer me this one question!”