Clifford gazed upon her with a sort of enthusiastic and self-gratulatory
pride; perhaps he felt to be thus loved and by such a creature was matter
of pride, even in the lowest circumstances to which he could ever be
exposed. He drew his breath hard, set his teeth, and answered,--

"You could love, then, an outcast, without birth, fortune, or character?
No! you believe this now, but you could not.

"Could you desert your country, your friends, and your home,--all that you
are born and fitted for? Could you attend one over whom the sword hangs,
through a life subjected every hour to discovery and disgrace? Could you
be subjected yourself to the moodiness of an evil memory and the gloomy
silence of remorse? Could you be the victim of one who has no merit but
his love for you, and who, if that love destroy you, becomes utterly
redeemed? Yes, Lucy, I was wrong--I will do you justice; all this, nay,
more, you could bear, and your generous nature would disdain the
sacrifice. But am I to be all selfish, and you all devoted? Are you to
yield everything to me, and I to accept everything and yield none? Alas!
I have but one good, one blessing to yield, and that is yourself. Lucy,
I deserve you; I outdo you in generosity. All that you would desert for
me is nothing--O God!--nothing to the sacrifice I make to you! And now,
Lucy, I have seen you, and I must once more bid you farewell; I am on the
eve of quitting this country forever. I shall enlist in a foreign
service. Perhaps" (and Clifford's dark eyes flashed with fire) "you will
yet hear of me, and not blush when you hear! But" (and his voice
faltered, for Lucy, hiding her face with both hands, gave way to her
tears and agitation),--"but, in one respect, you have conquered. I had
believed that you could never be mine,--that my past life had forever
deprived me of that hope! I now begin, with a rapture that can bear me
through all ordeals, to form a more daring vision. A soil maybe