“What is that, Miles?” inquired Eveline, seeing that he hesitated.

“He, whose the right is, hath every advantage over him in the wrong,” answered her lover, rather evasively; “but would that I could persuade thee to cut the Gordian knot and put an end to this torturing suspense, by flying with me, and giving me a lawful right to be thy protector according to the wishes of thy father.”

“Cease, Miles, and do not importune me in a matter wherein the impulses of my heart make me but too ready to forget the suggestions of prudence.”

“But how long mean you to submit to this unjust violence?”

“I know not.  Be assured, however, that nothing but dire necessity shall induce me to take a step, the thought of which burns my cheeks with blushes.”

“Do you distrust me, Eveline?” said Arundel, reproachfully.

“No; but it becomes Eveline Dunning; it becomes one whom thou hast thought worthy to be sought for across a stormy ocean; it becomes the descendant of a long line of honorable ancestors; it becomes a woman, whether in the thickly peopled city or in the wilderness, among strangers or with her own kindred, to avoid even the appearance of evil.  Much will I endure, and long will I bear my thraldom, before I will allow the thought of such a mode of deliverance to harbor in my mind.”

“My judgment tells me thou art right, Eveline, however much my heart rebels; but is there no emergency which can make thee cast off this slavery?”

“None such has arisen, and whatever difficulties may harrass me, I hope to be equal to them.”

“And years, long years, may drag along with weary feet, while we are wasting our youth in hopeless sighs over the tyranny of a heartless villain, lingering in this dreary land, where a smile is a vanity and a light heart a crime.”

“Does it pain thee so much,” inquired Eveline, half reproachfully, “to remain in the wilderness?”

“Nay, lovely one, where thou art is no wilderness, but a paradise.  Hither I came, attracted by the love that binds my soul to thine, and this land will I never leave alone.  A cabin with thee in these wilds were better than a palace ungraced by thy presence.”

“I thank thee, Miles, and thy words strengthen my courage.  So long as thou feelest thus, I cannot be unhappy.  But shouldst thou ever change; shouldst thou weary of the delays and vexations which thy love for Eveline Dunning doth impose, hesitate not to avow it, and thou shalt be free, though my heart break in bidding thee farewell.”

“Eveline, dearest Eveline,” cried her lover, catching her to his bosom, “how canst thou speak thus?  He who hath found heaven will never voluntarily resign it.”

But why pursue a discourse which can have but little interest except for the speakers?  The reader will suppose the further conversation which would naturally take place between two young persons in their situation.  Owing to the vigilance of Spikeman, it was a long time (so at least it seemed to them) since they had met, and the interview was sweeter for that reason.  While the precious moments are flitting by them unheeded, let us return to Waqua.