I am poor, I am humbly born, but till I came here, I was rich and proud in honour.

I am not so now.

Lucretia, pardon me, pardon me! Let the dream be over; we must not sin thus; for it is sin, and the worst of sin,--treachery.

We must part: forget me!" "Forget you! Never, never, never!" cried Lucretia, with suppressed but most earnest vehemence, her breast heaving, her hands, as he dropped the one he held, clasped together, her eyes full of tears,--transformed at once into softness, meekness, even while racked by passion and despair.
"Oh, William, say anything,--reproach, chide, despise me, for mine is all the fault; say anything but that word 'part.' I have chosen you, I have sought you out, I have wooed you, if you will; be it so.

I cling to you, you are my all,--all that saves me from--from myself," she added falteringly, and in a hollow voice.