I'm too fond
of you, Isabel, to give you up. Come back with me, and I will announce
our marriage to my friends."
She took his hand, and kissed it. "It is generous and good of you," she
said; "but it must not be."
He took a step nearer to her. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"It was against my will," she pursued, "that my aunt concealed the truth
from you. I did wrong to consent to it, I will do wrong no more. Your
mother is right, Alfred. After what has happened, I am not fit to be
your wife until my innocence is proved. It is not proved yet."
The angry color began to rise in his face once more. "Take care," he
said; "I am not in a humor to be trifled with."
"I am not trifling with you," she answered, in low, sad tones.
"You really mean what you say?"
"I mean it."
"Don't be obstinate, Isabel. Take time to consider."
"You are very kind, Alfred. My duty is plain to me. I will marry you--if
you still wish it--when my good name is restored to me. Not before."
He laid one hand on her arm, and pointed with the other to the guests in
the distance, all leaving the tent on the way to their carriages.
"You r good name will be restored to you," he said, "on the day when I
make you my wife. The worst enemy you have cannot associate _my_ name
with a suspicion of theft. Remember that and think a little before you
decide. You see those people there. If you don't change your mind by the
time they have got to the cottage, it's good-by between us, and good-by
forever.
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