"I can't marry him--I can't! It sets me wild to think of it.

What a wretch I am! What a weak, miserable, cowardly wretch, not to be able to face the fate I have chosen for myself! I don't know what to do, and I have no one to consult--no one but Father Francis, and I am afraid to speak to him.

I don't love him; I loathe the thought of marrying him; but it is too late to draw back.

If one could only die, and end it all!" Her arm lay across the window-sill; her head drooped and fell on it now, with a heavy sigh.

She was unspeakably miserable, and lonely, and desolate; she was going to seal her misery for life by a loveless marriage, which her soul abhorred, and she had no power to draw back.
She was like a rudderless ship, drifting without helm or compass among shoals and quicksands--drifting helplessly to ruin.
"If I dared only ask Father Francis, he would tell me what to do," she thought, despondingly; "he is so wise and good, and knows what is best for every one.