Chapter 12 - Page 2

prayer. Go--lay at her feet these difficulties which
oppress you, and see if she will not smile again. Or seek a
dispensation from your vow--seek it at the expense of the half of
your estate,--seek it at the expense of your whole property. Go a
pilgrimage barefooted to Rome--do any thing but give your hand
where you cannot give your heart."

"You speak warmly, Rose," said Eveline, still sighing as she
spoke.

"Alas! my sweet lady, I have cause. Have I not seen a household
where love was not--where, although there was worth and good will,
and enough of the means of life, all was imbittered by regrets,
which were not only vain, but criminal?"

"Yet, methinks, Rose, a sense of what is due to ourselves and to
others may, if listened to, guide and comfort us under such
feelings even as thou hast described."

"It will save us from sin, lady, but not from sorrow," answered
Rose; "and wherefore should we, with our eyes open, rush into
circumstances where duty must war with inclination?" Why row
against wind and tide, when you may as easily take advantage of
the breeze?"

"Because the voyage of my life lies where winds and currents
oppose me," answered Eveline. "It is my fate, Rose."

"Not unless you make it such by choice," answered Rose. "Oh, could
you but have seen the pale cheek, sunken eye, and dejected bearing
of my poor mother!--I have said too much."

"It was then your mother," said her young lady, "of whose unhappy
wedlock you have spoken?"

"It was--it was," said Rose, bursting into tears. "I have exposed
my own shame to save you from sorrow. Unhappy she was, though most
guiltless--so unhappy, that the breach of the dike, and the
inundation in which she perished, were, but for my sake, to her
welcome as night to the weary labourer. She had a heart like
yours, formed to love and be loved; and it would be doing honour
to yonder proud Baron, to say he had such worth as my father's.--
Yet was she most unhappy. Oh! my sweet lady, be warned, and break
off this ill-omened match!"

Eveline returned the pressure with which the affectionate girl, as
she clung to her hand, enforced her well-meant advice, and then
muttered with a profound sigh,--"Rose, it is too late."

"Never--never," said Rose, looking eagerly round the room. "Where
are those writing materials?--Let me bring Father Aldrovand, and
instruct him of your pleasure--or, stay, the good father hath
himself an eye on the splendours of the world which he thinks he
has abandoned--he will be no safe secretary.--I will go myself to
the Lord