marry her—that I should be entirely miserable even to think of it—and, that this is my fixed and unalterable determination."
"Heyday!" cried Sir Ambrose; "what is all this? Not marry Rosabella!"
"Never; no tortures should induce me! I am convinced she would make me wretched," continued Edric, hurrying through what he meant to say. "Our tempers don't assimilate. We should both be miserable. I should be very sorry to cause either you or the duke a moment's uneasiness—very sorry—I would die first! But to marry Rosabella would be worse than dying a thousand deaths—we should be the most wretched of human beings, and you would be unhappy at seeing me so."
"Mercy on me!" cried Sir Ambrose, heaving a deep sigh, and feeling almost out of breath at the volubility of his son. "I thought you dumb just now, but I see that you can use your tongue fast enough when the subject pleases you. Not marry Rosabella! Is the boy mad? Is she not young, beautiful, and highly accomplished? What would you have,
