"Dear Kate—sweet cousin—I must leave you now."
"I know it. Robert—I know more: you have persuaded my father to break his parole."
"I have done my best towards it, Kate; but if he has resolved, the impulse was as much his own as from me. He could not well have avoided it in the end, situated as he was."
"Perhaps not, Robert; still, your persuasions have been the most immediately urgent; and though I dread the result, I cannot well blame you for what you have done. I now wish to know from you, what are the chances in favour of his successful action. I would at least console myself by their recapitulation when he is absent, and perhaps in danger."
Major Singleton gave a promising account of the prospects before them; such, indeed, as they appeared at that time to the sanguine Americans, and needing but little exaggeration to persuade. She seemed satisfied, and he then proceeded to entreat her upon a subject purely selfish.
"Speak not now—not now on such a matter. Have we not enough, Robert, to trouble us? Danger and death, grief and many apprehensions hang over us, and will not suffer such idle thoughts," was the reply.
"These are no idle thoughts, Kate, since they belong so closely to our happiness. Say to me, then, only say that you love me."
"I love you, indeed—to be sure I do, as a cousin and as friend; but really you ask too much when you crave for more. I have no time, no feeling, for other love in these moments."
"Nay, be serious, Kate, and say. We know not how soon our situation may change. I am hourly exposed in a hazardous service—I may perish; and I would, before such an event, be secure in the hope that I may look to you for that love which would make me happy while living, or—"
She stopped him with a cool, sarcastic speech, concluding the sentence for him in a manner most annoying—
"Drop a tear for me when I am dead."
She saw that he looked displeased, and immediately after, with an art peculiarly her own, she diverted his anger.
"Nay, dear cousin, forgive me; but you looked the conclusion
