“Yes—­or no—­this time; is there no one you love better?”

Earth and sky, trees and rocks, seemed whirling into chaos, and she shut her eyes.

“You have no right to question me farther.  I will answer no more.”

Was the world really coming to an end?  She heard her guardian laugh, and the next moment he had caught her to his heart.  What did it mean?  Was she too growing delirious with brain fever?  His arm held her pressed close to his bosom, and his cheek leaned on her head, while strangely sweet and low were his words: 

“Ah, Lily!  Lily!  Hush.  Be still.”

She wished that she could die then and there, for the thought of Mr. Lindsay sickened her soul.  But the memory of the ring appalled her, and she struggled to free herself.

“Let me go!  Do let us go home.  I am sick.”

His arm drew her closer still.

“Be quiet, and let me talk to you, and remember I am your guardian.  Lily, I am afraid you are tempted to stray into dangerous paths, and your tender little heart is not a safe counsellor.  You are sincerely attached to your old friend, you trust and honour him, you are very grateful to him for years of kindness during your childhood; and now when his health has failed, and he appeals to you to repay the affection he has long given you, gratitude seems to assume the form of duty, and you are trying to persuade yourself that you ought to grant his prayer.  Lily, love is the only chrism that sanctifies marriage, and though at present you might consent to become Mr. Lindsay’s wife, suppose that in after years you should chance to meet some other man, perhaps not so holy, so purely Christian as this noble young missionary, but a man who seized, possessed your deep—­deathless womanly love, and who you knew loved you in return?  What then?”

“I would still do my duty to my dear Douglass.”

“No doubt you would try.  But you would do wrong to marry your friend feeling as you do; and you ought to wait and fully explain to him the nature of your sentiments.  You are almost a child, and scarcely know you own heart yet, and I, as your guardian, cannot consent to see you rashly forge fetters that may possibly gall you in future.  The letter to your mother has not yet been forwarded.  Hattie, to whom you entrusted it, did not give it to me until this morning, alleging in apology, that she put it in her pocket and forgot it.  I have reason to believe that in a very short time you will see your mother:  let this matter rest until you can converse fully with her, and if she sanctions your decision I, of course, shall have no right to expostulate.  Lily, I want to see you happy, and while I profoundly respect Mr. Lindsay, who I daresay is a most estimable gentleman, I should not very cordially give you away to him.”

She rose and stood before him, clasping her hands tightly over each other; tearless, tortured, striving to see the path of duty.