“Then I need entertain no further apprehensions, and will at once make known to you the details which seem to me necessary to be carried out.  There are very few persons in the settlements who have any knowledge of my connection with the Indians, and my first request is that you never, under any circumstances, allude to this connection, or let it be known that I have been here.  Have I your promise?”

“Most certainly.”

“I desire, in the second place, that you will say as much good of me as you can, (and that, I am sorry to say, will be but little,) to those who may ask you for information concerning me; but if you have nothing good to say, then that you will say no evil, and especially if my Indian life is alluded to.  May I hope for your favor in this respect?”

“I will do my best to exonerate you in all cases where your reputation is at stake, and to aid you in reaching a place of honor in society.”

“Thank you.  I have but one additional solicitation to make, and if to this you can give your assent, I shall be truly happy, delighted, and confident.”

All this time he had been driving at one point, which he had now reached, but was slow to present.  A momentary pause ensued; Ellen was in doubt as to the nature of the requirement, and he of the propriety of making it.  But he had set his all upon the desperate stake for which he was playing, and it would not now do to leave the game.  He at length went on: 

“I shall not feel myself safe in society unless I can form an alliance with some family of note and respectability.  I am not as extensively acquainted as some others—­in a word, I know of no young lady but yourself to whom I can offer my hand, and having loved you so long and ardently, I can do nothing less than make this as my final request, that you consent to become my wife.  I make this request the only condition of release, and upon your acceptance of my hand depends my present and future hope, my salvation in time and eternity.  My fate is in your hands, and you can raise me to heaven, or cast me down to hell.  Will you save me?”

It would be quite impossible to depict the consternation this announcement created in the mind of Ellen.  In spite of her better judgment, and the precedents in the villain’s former life, she had suffered herself to be beguiled by his seeming sincerity of manner into the hope that he was really desirous of reforming; and even now she could hardly believe her own ears, so consummate was his hypocrisy; but as the whole truth shone out to her comprehension, she saw through his scheme at once—­that all his seeming repentance was a pretense as hollow as his own heart.  The hope that had begun to swell in her heart was blotted out in a moment.  She replied without hesitation: 

“I cannot accede to your last proposition.”

“Why not?”

“It is impossible.”

“Then you willingly consign me to wretchedness in this life, and to perdition hereafter.”