‘How can I be thy wife, thou hast no home to take me to. Go and get some good hard money, and then we’ll consider of the matter.’ This language went to the heart of the poor fellow. ‘Ah, Clara!’ sighed he, with tears in his eyes, ‘if thy mind be set upon goods and gold, thou art no longer the honest girl thou once wast. Didst thou not give me thy hand to my hand that thou would’st be true? And what had I then more than this hand wherewith to maintain thee? Why now thus proud, thus cold? Ah, Clara! I need not ask; some rich lover has robbed me of thy heart. Is this my reward, faithless one? Three long years have I spent, counting the months and days and hours that separated me from thee. As I crossed the mountains on my return, my before wearied feet became light and free, my strength and speed were renewed by the glowing hope of the welcome which I expected at thy hands, and now thou receivest me with contempt.’ He wept and sobbed, but I did not give way. ‘Benedict,’ I said coldly, ‘my heart despises thee not; my hand rejects thee not; all I require is this—depart once more, get money, and then come home, and I will be thine.’—‘Well,’ he replied moodily, ‘so be it, since thou wilt have it so. I will depart once more, and work, beg, borrow, or steal; nor shalt thou see me again until, by some means or other, good or bad, I have acquired the vile dross by which alone I can purchase thy hand.’—‘Good-bye,’ I said lightly.’
