"I love you, too, Robert, and will take faithful care of you."
"Will you take faithful care of me?—faithful care! as if that rose should promise to shelter from tempest this hard, gray stone. But she will care for me, in her way: these hands will be the gentle ministrants of every comfort I can taste. I know the being I seek to entwine with my own will bring me a solace—a charity—a purity—to which, of myself, I am a stranger."
Suddenly, Caroline was troubled; her lip quivered.
"What flutters my dove?" asked Moore, as she nestled to, and then uneasily shrank from him.
"Poor mama! I am all mama has: must I leave her?"
"Do you know, I thought of that difficulty: I and 'mama' have discussed it."
"Tell me what you wish—what you would like—and I will consider if it is possible to consent; but I cannot desert her, even for you: I cannot break her heart, even for your sake."
"She was faithful when I was false—was she not? I never came near your sick-bed, and she watched it ceaselessly."
"What must I do? Anything but leave her."
"At my wish, you never shall leave her."
"She may live very near us?"
"With us—only she will have her own rooms and servant: for this she stipulates herself."
"You know she has an income, that, with her habits, makes her quite independent?"
