'No, dear, you could not. Such a marriage would have been most unnatural;
he was more than forty years older than you.'

'I do not think he ever thought of such a thing until about a month or six
weeks ago. You remember how I ran to you? I was as white as a ghost, and I
trembled like a leaf. I could hardly speak.... You remember?'

'Yes, I remember; and some hours after, when I came into this room, he was
standing there, just there, on the hearth-rug; there was a fearful look of
pain and despair on his face--he looked as if he was going mad. I never saw
such a look before, and I never wish to see such a look again. And the
effort he made to appear unconcerned when he saw me was perhaps the worst
part of it. I pretended to see nothing, and walked away towards the window
and looked out. But all the while I could feel that some terrible drama was
passing behind me. At last I had to look round. He was sitting in that
chair, his elbows on his knees, clasping his head with both hands, the old,
gnarled fingers twined in the iron-grey hair. Then, unable to contain
himself any longer, he rushed out of the room, out of the house, and across
the park.'

'You say that he passed away quietly; he did not seem to suffer at all?'

'No, he never recovered consciousness.'

'But do you think that my refusal to marry him had anything to do with his
death?'

'Oh no, Emily; a fit of apoplexy, with a man of his age, generally ends
fatally.'