“Strengthen me!” she murmured, looking supplicatingly upwards.  “Strengthen me, for my trial is very severe.”

“Be not deceived, Amabel,” continued Rochester, yet more ardently; “that you love me I am well assured, however strongly you may at this moment persuade yourself to the contrary.  Be not governed by your father’s strait-laced and puritanical opinions.  Men, such as he is, cannot judge of fiery natures like mine.  I myself have had to conquer a stubborn and rebellious spirit,—­the demon pride.  But I have conquered.  Love has achieved the victory,—­love for you.  I offer you my heart, my hand, my title.  A haughty noble makes this offer to a grocer’s daughter.  Can you—­will you refuse me?”

“I can and do, my lord,” she replied.  “I have achieved a yet harder victory.  With me, principle has conquered love.  I no longer respect you, no longer love you—­and, therefore, cannot wed you.”

“Rash and obstinate girl,” cried the earl, unable to conceal his mortification; “you will bitterly repent your inconsiderate conduct.  I offer you devotion such as no other person could offer you, and rank such as no other is likely to offer you.  You are now in my power, and you shall be mine,—­in what way rests with yourself.  You shall have a week to consider the matter.  At the end of that time, I will again renew my proposal.  If you accept it, well and good.  If not, you know the alternative.”  And without waiting for a reply, he quitted the room.

He was as good as his word.  During the whole of the week allowed Amabel for consideration, he never intruded upon her, nor was his name at any time mentioned by her attendants.  If she had been, indeed, Countess of Rochester, she could not have been treated with greater respect than was shown her.  The apartment allotted her opened upon a large garden, surrounded by high walls, and she walked within it daily.  Her serenity of mind remained undisturbed; her health visibly improved; and, what was yet more surprising, she entirely recovered her beauty.  The whole of her time not devoted to exercise, was spent in reading, or in prayer.  On the appointed day, Rochester presented himself.  She received him with the most perfect composure, and with a bland look, from which he augured favourably.  He waved his hand to the attendants, and they were alone.

“I came for your answer, Amabel,” he said; “but I scarcely require it, being convinced from your looks that I have nothing to fear.  Oh! why did you not abridge this tedious interval?  Why not inform me you had altered your mind?  But I will not reproach you.  I am too happy to complain of the delay?”

“I must undeceive you, my lord,” returned Amabel, gravely.  “No change has taken place in my feelings.  I still adhere to the resolution I had come to when we last parted.”

“How!” exclaimed the earl, his countenance darkening, and the evil look which Amabel had before noticed taking possession of it.  “One moment lured on, and next rebuffed.  But no—­no!” he added, constraining himself, “you cannot mean it.  It is not in woman’s nature to act thus.  You have loved me—­you love me still.  Make me happy—­make yourself happy.”