I pleaded, prayed, urged my great
love--all in vain. The earl, my father, only laughed at me, and said all
young men suffered from the fever called love. I came back to England,
and found that Mr. Trevor was dead. Madaline, his daughter, was left
alone in the world. She raised her beautiful face to mine, poor child,
and tried to smile while she talked of going out into the world and of
working hard for her daily bread; and, as I listened, my love seemed to
grow stronger and deeper. I caught her in my arms, and swore that
nothing should part us--that, come what would, she must be my wife. She
was very unwilling--not that she did not love me, but because she was
afraid of making my father angry; that was her great objection. She knew
my love for him and his affection for me. She would not come between us.
It was in vain that I prayed her to do as I wished. After a time she
consented to a compromise--to marry me without my father's knowledge. It
was a folly, I own; now I see clearly its imprudence--then I imagined it
the safest and surest way. I persuaded her, as I had persuaded myself,
that, when my father once knew that we were married, he would forgive
us, and all would go well.
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