'I feel it is madness; I feel it is worse than madness; but must I yield
without a struggle, and see my dark fate cover me without an effort? Oh!
yes, here, even here, where I have wept over your contempt, even here,
although I subject myself to renewed rejection, let--let me tell you,
before we part, how I adore you!'
She was silent; a strange courage came over his spirit; and, with
a reckless boldness, and rapid voice, a misty sight, and total
unconsciousness of all other existence, he resumed the words which had
broken out, as if by inspiration.
'I am not worthy of you. Who is? I was worthless. I did not know it.
Have not I struggled to be pure? have not I sighed on my nightly pillow
for your blessing? Oh! could you read my heart (and sometimes, I think,
you can read it, for indeed, with all its faults, it is without guile) I
dare to hope that you would pity me. Since we first met, your image
has not quitted my conscience for a second. When you thought me least
worthy; when you thought me vile, or mad, oh! by all that is sacred,
I was the most miserable wretch that ever breathed, and flew to
dissipation only for distraction!
'Not--not for a moment have I ceased to think you the best, the most
beautiful, the most enchanting and endearing creature that ever graced
our earth.
Pages:
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523