“Do not say so, my own mother.  I am not ill, only lazy, and that you were not wont to encourage; my eyes would close, spite of all my efforts.  But why should you have the uninteresting task of watching my slumbers?”

“Because, dearest, I will not abandon my office, till it is claimed as the right of another.  It will soon be, my Emmeline; but do not send me from your side, till then.”

“The right of another, dearest mother? whose right will it ever be but yours? who can ever be to me the tender nurse that you have been?”

“One who will vow to love, protect, and cherish you; one who loves you, my own Emmeline, and longs to claim you as his own, and restore, by his affection, the health and spirits you have lost; one who has the consent and blessing of your father and myself, and waits but for yours.”

Emmeline started from her recumbent posture.

“Oh, send me not from you, mother, my own mother!  Do not, oh, do not compel me to marry!” she exclaimed, in a tone of agony.  “The affection of a husband restore my health! oh, no, no, it would break my heart at once, and you would send me from you but to die.  Mother, oh, let me stay with you.  Do not let my father command my obedience; in everything else I will obey but in this.”  She hid her face in Mrs. Hamilton’s bosom, and wept bitterly.

“We will command nothing that can make you miserable, my own,” replied her mother, soothingly.  “But you will love him, my Emmeline, you will love him as he loves you; his fond affection cannot fail to make you happy.  You will learn to know him—­to value his noble virtues, his honourable principles.  As his wife, new pleasures, new duties will be around you.  Health will return, and I shall see my Emmeline once more as she was—­my own happy child.”

“And has it indeed gone so far that both you and my father have consented, and I must disobey and displease my parents, or be miserable for life?”

“My child,” said Mrs. Hamilton, so solemnly, that Emmeline involuntarily checked her tears, “my child, you shall never marry the husband we have chosen for you, unless you can love and be happy with him:  sacredly and irrevocably I promise this.  You shall not sacrifice yourself for a doubtful duty.  If, when you have seen and known him, your wishes still are contrary to ours, we will not demand your obedience.  If you still prefer your mother’s home, never, never shall you go from me.  Be comforted, my Emmeline,—­do not weep thus.  Will you not trust me?  If you cannot love, you shall not marry.”

“But, my father—­oh, mamma, will he too promise me this?”

“Yes, love; doubt him not,” and a smile so cheering, so happy, was round Mrs. Hamilton’s lips as she spoke, that Emmeline unconsciously felt relieved.  “We only wish our Emmeline’s consent to an introduction to this estimable young man, who has so long and so faithfully loved her, and if still she is inexorable we must submit.  Could I send you from me without your free consent?  Could I part from you except for happiness?”