He gave me his hand—­it was cold and damp as death; under an assumed calmness, it was evident that he was fearfully agitated.  He continued to hold my hand with an almost painful pressure, while, as if unconsciously, seeming to forget my presence, he muttered, “Strange, strange, strange, indeed! fatuity, helpless fatuity!” there was here a long pause.  “Madness indeed to strain a cable that is rotten to the very heart; it must break—­and then—­all goes.”  There was again a pause of some minutes, after which, suddenly changing his voice and manner to one of wakeful alacrity, he exclaimed,

“Margaret, my son Edward shall plague you no more.  He leaves this country to-morrow for France; he shall speak no more upon this subject—­never, never more; whatever events depended upon your answer must now take their own course; but as for this fruitless proposal, it has been tried enough; it can be repeated no more.”

At these words he coldly suffered my hand to drop, as if to express his total abandonment of all his projected schemes of alliance; and certainly the action, with the accompanying words, produced upon my mind a more solemn and depressing effect than I believed possible to have been caused by the course which I had determined to pursue; it struck upon my heart with an awe and heaviness which will accompany the accomplishment of an important and irrevocable act, even though no doubt or scruple remains to make it possible that the agent should wish it undone.

“Well,” said my uncle, after a little time, “we now cease to speak upon this topic, never to resume it again.  Remember you shall have no farther uneasiness from Edward; he leaves Ireland for France to-morrow; this will be a relief to you; may I depend upon your honour that no word touching the subject of this interview shall ever escape you?” I gave him the desired assurance; he said, “It is well; I am satisfied; we have nothing more, I believe, to say upon either side, and my presence must be a restraint upon you, I shall therefore bid you farewell.”  I then left the apartment, scarcely knowing what to think of the strange interview which had just taken place.

On the next day my uncle took occasion to tell me that Edward had actually sailed, if his intention had not been prevented by adverse winds or weather; and two days after he actually produced a letter from his son, written, as it said, on board, and despatched while the ship was getting under weigh.  This was a great satisfaction to me, and as being likely to prove so, it was no doubt communicated to me by Sir Arthur.