uttered the vows that dishonour. Poor child, it was the instinctive desire of right within thee that made thee listen to him; and if my fatal shadow had not crossed thy path, thou wouldst have loved him well enough, at least for content. Return to that hope, and nurse again that innocent affection; this is my answer to thee. Art thou contented?"
"No! ah, no! severe as thou art, I love better to hear thee than—than what am I saying? And now you have saved me, I shall pray for you, bless you, think of you; and am I never to see you more? Alas, the moment you leave me, danger and dread will darken round me. Let me be your servant, your slave; with you I should have no fear."
A dark shade fell over Zicci's brow; he looked from the ground on which his eyes had rested while she spoke upon the earnest and imploring face of the beautiful creature that now knelt before him, with all the passions of an ardent and pure, but wholly untutored and half-savage nature, speaking from the tearful eyes and trembling lips. He looked at her with an aspect she could not interpret; in his eyes were kindness, sorrow, and even something, she thought, of love; yet the brow frowned, and the lip was stern.
"It is in vain that we struggle with our doom," said he, calmly "listen to me yet. I am a man, Isabel, in whom there are some good impulses yet left, but whose life is, on the whole, devoted to a systematic and selfish desire to enjoy whatever life can afford. To me it is given to warn; the warning neglected, I interfere no more; I leave her victories to that Fate that I cannot baffle of her prey. You do not understand me; no matter: what I am now about to say will be more easy to comprehend. I tell thee to tear from thy heart all thought of me; thou hast yet the power. If thou wilt not obey me, thou must reap the seeds that thou wilt sow. Glyndon, if thou acceptest his homage, will love thee throughout life; I, too, can love thee."
"You,—you"
"But with a lukewarm and selfish love; and one that cannot last. Thou wilt be a flower in my path:—I inhale thy sweetness, and pass on—caring not what wind shall sup thee, or what step shall tread thee to the dust. Which is the love thou wouldst prefer?"
"But do you—can you love me!—you—you, Zicci, even for an hour? say it again."
"Yes, Isabel;—I am not dead to beauty; and yours is that rarely given to the daughters of men. Yes, Isabel, I could love thee."
