"You must marry this Etherington--there is no help for it, Clara--You cannot complain of what your own vice and folly have rendered inevitable." "But, brother!"-- said the trembling girl.
"Be silent.

I know all that you would say.

You love him not, you would say.

I love him not, no more than you.

Nay, what is more, he loves you not; if he did, I might scruple to give you to him, you being such as you have owned yourself.