In language that was broken, but which the emotions of my heart inspired, I told her of the enchantment her society was to me; of the love that was becoming a part of my nature, the love that had been so almost ever since I had seen her, and led me to treasure her handkerchief (which I then drew from my breast); but, I added, that as she was plighted to another--more than all, as she was so rich and I so poor, I had come to the bitter resolution of seeing her no more, and quitting England for some distant colony.
"You love me then?" she asked, calmly, and with downcast eyes.
"Love you! Oh, words cannot tell you how fondly, Gertrude."
"Then I, too, am the victim of circumstances. By the manoeuvres of mamma, who is a great matchmaker, in the very year of my _début_ in London she contrived, I scarcely know how, to have me engaged to a man for whom I cared nothing then, and, oh, how much less now! A young girl of eighteen, his presence dazzled, his attentions flattered me, and that was the whole matter. I tolerated him. I have done all I can to delay the marriage for many months by feigning illness; but papa and mamma say that to make a regular break off will prove such an _esclandre_ in society. Yet is my life, all my future, to be sacrificed for the myth we call society? I foresee too clearly what my fate will be, to pass through existence unloving and unloved; but it is heaven's will, or rather mamma's pleasure."
"Oh, that I were rich, Gertrude, or that men could not stigmatise me as an adventurer and fortune-hunter, as they will be sure to do, if I--I----"
"Fear nothing, Fred, but speak. I need advice."
The sound of my name on her lips, the intense sweetness of her eyes and sorrow of her air, rendered me blind to all but her beauty, her love, and the passion that was in my own heart, and oblivious of those who might be passing near--and afterwards we had soon cruel reason to believe that we were not only seen, but watched, as it was quite unusual for her to be out a-foot and alone--I told her that if she would rely upon my affection and honour, on the love with which she had already inspired me, it would be the duty of my life to render hers happy; that I would save her from the delusive snare called "society," and the thraldom of her proud old father and calculating mother. Of course, I didn't call them so to her. I spoke with boldness, decision, and facility, for love and passion lent me power. I looked into her eyes and saw an answering light; but she answered, pale and trembling the while--