love, how rapidly the pen ran over the paper; how much more freely and
smoothly the desires of the heart flowed into words, than the thoughts
of the mind! Composition was an instinct now, an art no longer. I
could write eloquently, and yet write without pausing for an
expression or blotting a word--It was the slow progress up the hill,
in the service of ambition; it was the swift (too swift) career down
it, in the service of love!

There is no need to describe the contents of my letter to Margaret;
they comprised a mere recapitulation of what I had already said to
her. I insisted often and strongly on the honourable purpose of my
suit; and ended by entreating her to write an answer, and consent to
allow me another interview.

The letter was delivered by the servant. Another present, a little
more timely persuasion, and above all, the regard I had shown to my
promise, won the girl with all her heart to my interests. She was
ready to help me in every way, as long as her interference could be
kept a secret from her master.

I waited a day for the reply to my letter; but none came. The servant
could give me no explanation of this silence. Her young mistress had
not said one word to her about me, since the morning when we had met.
Still not discouraged, I wrote again. The letter contained some
lover's threats this time, as well as lover's entreaties; and it
produced its effect--an answer came.

It was very short--rather hurriedly and tremblingly written--and
simply said that the difference between my rank and hers made it her
duty to request of me, that neither by word nor by letter should I