love me. I am foolish and vain, and I believe you. Perhaps, also, I
have the fond hope which so often makes dupes of women,--the hope that if
you have erred, I may reclaim you; if you have been unfortunate, I may
console you! I know, Mr. Clifford, that I am saying that for which many
would despise me, and for which, perhaps, I ought to despise myself; but
there are times when we speak only as if some power at our hearts
constrained us, despite ourselves,--and it is thus that I have now spoken
to you."

It was with an air very unwonted to herself that Lucy had concluded her
address, for her usual characteristic was rather softness than dignity;
but, as if to correct the meaning of her words, which might otherwise
appear unmaidenly, there was a chaste, a proud, yet not the less a tender
and sweet propriety and dignified frankness in her look and manner; so
that it would have been utterly impossible for one who heard her not to
have done justice to the nobleness of her motives, or not to have felt
both touched and penetrated, as much by respect as by any warmer or more
familiar feeling.

Clifford, who had risen while she was speaking, listened with a
countenance that varied at every word she uttered,--now all hope, now all
despondency. As she ceased, the expression hardened into a settled and
compulsive resolution.

"It is well!" said he, mutteringly. "I am worthy of this,--very, very
worthy! Generous, noble girl! had I been an emperor, I would have bowed
down to you in worship; but to debase, to degrade you,--no! no!"

"Is there debasement in love?" murmured Lucy.