‘O, my Sophia, what means this dreadful sight?’

     She looked softly at him for a moment before she spoke, and
     then said: 

     ’Mr. Jones, for Heaven’s sake, how came you here?  Leave me,
     I beseech you, this moment.’

‘Do not,’ says he, ’impose so harsh a command upon me.  My heart bleeds faster than those lips.  O Sophia, how easily could I drain my veins to preserve one drop of that dear blood.’

     ‘I have too many obligations to you already,’ answered she,
     ‘for sure you meant them such.’

     Here she looked at him tenderly almost a minute, and then
     bursting into an agony, cried: 

     ’Oh, Mr. Jones, why did you save my life?  My death would
     have been happier for us both.’

     ‘Happy for us both!’ cried he.  ’Could racks or wheels kill
     me so painfully as Sophia’s—­I cannot bear the dreadful
     sound.  Do I live but for her?’

Both his voice and look were full of irrepressible tenderness when he spoke these words; and at the same time he laid gently hold on her hand, which she did not withdraw from him; to say the truth, she hardly knew what she did or suffered.  A few moments now passed in silence between these lovers, while his eyes were eagerly fixed on Sophia, and hers declining toward the ground; at last she recovered strength enough to desire him again to leave her, for that her certain ruin would be the consequence of their being found together; adding: 

     ’Oh, Mr. Jones, you know not, you know not what hath passed
     this cruel afternoon.’

     ‘I know all, my Sophia,’ answered he; ’your cruel father
     hath told me all, and he himself hath sent me hither to
     you.’

     ‘My father sent you to me!’ replied she:  ‘sure you dream!’

‘Would to Heaven,’ cried he, ’it was but a dream.  Oh!  Sophia, your father hath sent me to you, to be an advocate for my odious rival, to solicit you in his favor.  I took any means to get access to you.  O, speak to me, Sophia!  Comfort my bleeding heart.  Sure no one ever loved, ever doted, like me.  Do not unkindly withhold this dear, this soft, this gentle hand—­one moment perhaps tears you forever from me.  Nothing less than this cruel occasion could, I believe, have ever conquered the respect and love with which you have inspired me.’

     She stood a moment silent, and covered with confusion;
     then, lifting up her eyes gently towards him, she cried: 

     ‘What would Mr. Jones have me say?’