The youth once more took her
hand into his, as, speaking with a suppressed tone, and with a measured
slowness which had something in it of extreme melancholy, he broke
silence:--
"And have I no answer, Edith--and must I believe that for either of us
there should be other loves than those of childhood--that new affections
may usurp the place of old ones--that there may come a time, dear Edith,
when I shall see an arm, not my own, about your waist; and the eyes that
would look on no prospect if you were not a part of it, may be doomed to
that fearfullest blight of beholding your lips smiling and pressed
beneath the lips of another?"
"Never, oh never, Ralph! Speak no more, I beseech you, in such language.
You do me wrong in this--I have no such wish, no such thought or
purpose. I do not--I could not--think of another, Ralph. I will be
yours, and yours only--if you really wish it."
"If I wish! Ah! dear Edith, you are mine, and I am yours! The world
shall not pass between us.
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