"
He would have clasped her to him as he named her thus, but Mary
struggled almost wildly to free herself, exclaiming, "Oh! plead not thus
lest I forget my father in myself--my duty in love--the forgetfulness
would be but short--I should be unhappy even at your side, when I
thought of the loneliness of heart and life to which I had condemned
him."
"But he should go with us--he should have our home. It will be a simple
home, Mary--for though I come of a lordly race, I inherit not their
wealth--but it will be large enough for our father."
"Kind and generous!" exclaimed Mary, as she suffered her fingers to
clasp the hand in which they had hitherto only rested, "would that it
might be so--but that were to ask of my father a sacrifice greater even
than the surrender of his daughter--the sacrifice of his sense of duty
to the people who have chosen him as their spiritual father--and to whom
he considers himself bound for life."
Captain Percy remained silent long after she had ceased to speak, with
his eyes resting on her downcast face. At length in low, sad tones, he
questioned, "And must we part thus?"
Mary's lips moved, but she could not speak.
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