sister? There, the place itself imposes restraint on despair. Oh, sir,
this is no time for formal scruples; be merciful, I beseech you, not to
me, but to Susan. I judge of her by myself. I know that I shall go to
the altar more resigned to the future if for once I can give vent to what
weighs upon my heart. She will then see, as I do, that the path before
me is inevitable; she will compose herself to face the fate that compels
us. We shall swear tacitly to each other, not to love, but to conquer
love. Believe me, sir, I am not selfish in this prayer; an instinct, the
intuition which human grief has into the secrets of human grief, assures
me that that which I ask is the best consolation you can afford to Susan.
You own she is ill,--suffering. Are not your fears for her very life--O
Heaven? for her very life--gravely awakened? And yet you see we have
been silent to each other! Can speech be more fatal in its results than
silence? Oh, for her sake, hear me!"

The good man's tears fell fast. His scruples were shaken; there was truth
in what Mainwaring urged. He did not yield, but he promised to reflect,
and inform Mainwaring, by a line, in the evening. Finding this was all
he could effect, the young man at last suffered him to leave the house,
and Fielden hastened to take counsel of Dalibard; that wily persuader
soon reasoned away Mr. Fielden's last faint objection. It now only
remained to procure Susan's assent to the interview, and to arrange that
it should be undisturbed. Mr. Fielden should take out the children the
next morning. Dalibard volunteered to contrive the absence of Lucretia
at the hour appointed. Mrs. Fielden alone should remain within, and
might, if it were judged proper, be present at the interview, which was
fixed for the forenoon in the usual drawing-room. Nothing but Susan's
consent was now necessary, and Mr. Fielden ascended to her room. He
knocked twice,--no sweet voice bade him enter; he opened the door
gently,--Susan was in prayer. At the opposite corner of the room, by the