Frances having, however, recovered herself,
coldly repulsed him, and continued her walk homeward.
"Is this our parting!" cried Dunwoodie, in agony. "Am I a wretch, that
you treat me so cruelly? You have never loved me, and wish to conceal
your own fickleness by accusations that you will not explain."
Frances stopped short in her walk, and turned on him a look of so much
purity and feeling, that, heart-stricken, Dunwoodie would have knelt at
her feet for pardon; but motioning him for silence, she once
more spoke:--
"Hear me, Major Dunwoodie, for the last time: it is a bitter knowledge
when we first discover our own inferiority; but it is a truth that I
have lately learned. Against you I bring no charges--make no
accusations; no, not willingly in my thoughts. Were my claims to your
heart just, I am not worthy of you. It is not a feeble, timid girl, like
me, that could make you happy. No, Peyton, you are formed for great and
glorious actions, deeds of daring and renown, and should be united to a
soul like your own; one that can rise above the weakness of her sex. I
should be a weight to drag you to the dust; but with a different spirit
in your companion, you might soar to the very pinnacle of earthly glory.
To such a one, therefore, I resign you freely, if not cheerfully; and
pray, oh, how fervently do I pray! that with such a one you may
be happy.
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