Willet
talked in his earnest way--every sentence full of poetry to the ears
of at least one absorbed listener. In a pause of the conversation,
Flora left them and went back to the house. For a little while the
silence continued, and then Mr. Willet said, in a tone so changed
that its echo in the maiden's heart made every pulse beat quicker,--
"Fanny, there is one question that I have long desired to ask."
She lifted her eyes to his face timidly, and looked steadily at him
for a few moments; then, as they fell to the ground, she replied--
"You can ask no question that it will not give me pleasure to
answer."
"But this, I fear, will give you pain," said he.
"Pain, you have taught me, is often a salutary discipline."
"True, and may it be so in the present instance. It is not unknown
to me that Mr. Lyon once held a place in your regard--I will go
farther, and say in your affections."
Fanny started, and moved a step from him; but he continued--
"The question I wish to ask is, does there yet remain in your heart
a single point that gives back a reflection of his image? In plainer
words, is he any thing to you?"
"No, nothing!" was the emphatic, almost indignant, answer.
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