Scotland will be wrecked should he leave the helm; and,
sweet Edwin, though your young heart is yet unacquainted with the
strange inconsistencies of the tenderest passion, I must whisper you
that your friend will never be happy till he again live in the bosom of
domestic affection."
"Ah! but where is he to find it?" cried Edwin. "what will ever restore
his Marion to his arms?"
"I," cried she-"I will be more than ever Marion was to him! She knew
not-O! she could not-the boundless love that fills my heart for him!"
Edwin's blushes at this wild declaration told her how far she had
betrayed herself. She attempted to palliate what she could no longer
conceal, and, covering her face with her hand, exclaimed, "You, who
love Sir William Wallace, cannot be surprised that all who adore human
excellence should participate in that sentiment. How could I see him,
the benefactor of my family, the blessing to all Scotland, and not love
him?"
"True," replied Edwin; "but not as a wife would love her husband! You
were married. And was it possible you could feel thus when my uncle
lived? So strong a passion cannot have grown in your breast since he
died; for surely, love should not enter a widow's heart at the side of
an unburied husband!"
"Edwin!" replied she, "you, who never felt the throbs of this tyrant,
judge with a severity you will one day regret.
Pages:
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817