Among other topics interesting to the grocer, the persecution to which his daughter had been recently subjected was brought forward.  Mr. Bloundel could not reprobate the earl’s conduct more strongly than his guest did; and he assailed himself with such virulence that, in spite of her uneasiness, Amabel could not repress a smile.  In short, he so accommodated himself to the grocer’s opinion, and so won upon his regard, that the latter offered him an asylum in his house during the continuance of the pestilence.  This was eagerly accepted, and the earl, hazarding a look at Amabel at the moment, perceived her change colour and become greatly agitated.  Mrs. Bloundel also noticed her confusion, but attributing it to any other than the right cause, begged her, in a low tone, to control herself.

At length, the opportunity for which the earl had been secretly sighing occurred.  Mr. Bloundel called his wife out of the room for a moment, and as their eldest son, Stephen, was in the shop, and the two other children upstairs, Amabel was left alone with her lover.  The door was no sooner closed than he sprang towards her and threw himself at her feet.

“Shall I avail myself of your father’s offer, sweetheart?” he cried.  “Shall I remain here with you—­the happiest of prisoners—­or will you once more accompany me?  This time, our marriage shall not be interrupted.”

“Perhaps not, my lord,” she replied, gravely; “but it will be a mock ceremonial, like the last.  Do not attempt to deceive me.  I am fully aware of your intentions, and after the awful fate of the wretched instrument of your purposed criminality, you will not readily get another person to tempt in like manner the vengeance of Heaven.  I have had a severe struggle with myself.  But at length I have triumphed over my irresolution.  I will not disguise from you that I love you still,—­and must ever, I fear, continue to love you.  But I will not be yours on the terms you propose.  Neither will I leave this house with you, nor suffer you to remain in it, in any other than your proper character.  On my father’s return I will disclose all to him.  If your designs are honourable, I am sure he will no longer oppose my union with you.  If not, we part for ever.”

“Be prudent, sweet girl, I entreat of you,” cried the earl imploringly.  “Your indiscretion will ruin all.  There are a thousand reasons why your father should not be consulted on the matter.”

“There are none that weigh with me,” she interrupted, decidedly.  “I have been bewildered—­beside myself,—­but, thank Heaven, I have recovered before it is too late.”

“You are beside yourself at this moment,” cried Rochester, unable to control his anger and mortification, “and will bitterly repent your folly.  Neither your supplications nor my rank will have any weight with your father, prejudiced as he is against me.  Fly with me, and I swear to make you mine, without a moment’s loss of time.  Will not my plighted word content you?”