The allotted period had at
length elapsed; the day arrived on which I was to communicate my
decision to my uncle. Although my resolution had never for a moment
wavered, I could not shake off the dread of the approaching colloquy;
and my heart sank within me as I heard the expected summons. I had not seen my cousin Edward since the occurrence of the grand
_eclaircissement_; he must have studiously avoided me--I suppose from
policy, it could not have been from delicacy. I was prepared for a
terrific burst of fury from my uncle, as soon as I should make known my
determination; and I not unreasonably feared that some act of violence
or of intimidation would next be resorted to. Filled with these dreary forebodings, I fearfully opened the study door,
and the next minute I stood in my uncle's presence. He received me with
a politeness which I dreaded, as arguing a favourable anticipation
respecting the answer which I was to give; and after some slight delay,
he began by saying:

"It will be a relief to both of us, I believe, to bring this
conversation as soon as possible to an issue. You will excuse me, then,
my dear niece, for speaking with an abruptness which, under other
circumstances, would be unpardonable. You have, I am certain, given the
subject of our last interview fair and serious consideration; and I
trust that you are now prepared with candour to lay your answer before
me. A few words will suffice--we perfectly understand one another." He paused, and I, though feeling that I stood upon a mine which might in
an instant explode, nevertheless answered with perfect composure:

"I must now, sir, make the same reply which I did upon the last
occasion, and I reiterate the declaration which I then made, that I
never can nor will, while life and reason remain, consent to a union
with my cousin Edward." This announcement wrought no apparent change in Sir Arthur, except that
he became deadly, almost lividly pale. He seemed lost in dark thought
for a minute, and then with a slight effort said:

"You have answered me honestly and directly; and you say your
resolution is unchangeable. Well, would it had been otherwise--would it
had been otherwise; but be it as it is, I am satisfied." He gave me his hand--it was cold and damp as death; under an assumed
calmness, it was evident that he was fearfully agitated. He continued
to hold my hand with an almost painful pressure, while, as if
unconsciously, seeming to forget my presence, he muttered:

"Strange, strange, strange, indeed! fatuity, helpless fatuity!" there
was here a long pause. "Madness indeed to strain a cable that is rotten
to the very heart--it must break--and then--all goes." There was again a pause of some minutes, after which, suddenly changing
his voice and manner to one of wakeful alacrity, he exclaimed:

"Margaret, my son Edward shall plague you no more. He leaves this
country on to-morrow for France--he shall speak no more upon this
subject--never, never more--whatever events depended upon your answer
must now take their own course; but, as for this fruitless proposal, it
has been tried enough; it can be repeated no more." At these words he coldly suffered my hand to drop, as if to express
his total abandonment of all his projected schemes of alliance; and
certainly the action, with the accompanying words, produced upon my mind
a more solemn and depressing effect than I believed possible to have
been caused by the course which I had determined to pursue; it struck
upon my heart with an awe and heaviness which _will_ accompany the
accomplishment of an important and irrevocable act, even though no doubt
or scruple remains to make it possible that the agent should wish it
undone. "Well," said my uncle, after a little time, "we now cease to speak upon
this topic, never to resume it again. Remember you shall have no further
uneasiness from Edward; he leaves Ireland for France on to-morrow; this
will be a relief to you. May I depend upon your honour that no word
touching the subject of this interview shall ever escape you?" I gave him the desired assurance; he said:

"It is well--I am satisfied; we have nothing more, I believe, to say
upon either side, and my presence must be a restraint upon you, I shall
therefore bid you farewell." I then left the apartment, scarcely knowing what to think of the strange
interview which had just taken place. On the next day my uncle took occasion to tell me that Edward had
actually sailed, if his intention had not been interfered with by
adverse circumstances; and two days subsequently he actually produced a
letter from his son, written, as it said, on board, and despatched while
the ship was getting under weigh. This was a great satisfaction to me
and as being likely to prove so, it was no doubt communicated to me by
Sir Arthur. During all this trying period, I had found infinite consolation in the
society and sympathy of my dear cousin Emily. I never in after-life
formed a friendship so close, so fervent, and upon which, in all its
progress, I could look back with feelings of such unalloyed pleasure,
upon whose termination I must ever dwell with so deep, yet so
unembittered regret. In cheerful converse with her I soon recovered my
spirits considerably, and passed my time agreeably enough, although
still in the strictest seclusion. Matters went on sufficiently smooth, although I could not help sometimes
feeling a momentary, but horrible uncertainty respecting my uncle's
character; which was not altogether unwarranted by the circumstances of
the two trying interviews whose particulars I have just detailed. The
unpleasant impression which these conferences were calculated to leave
upon my mind was fast wearing away, when there occurred a circumstance,
slight indeed in itself, but calculated irresistibly to awaken all my
worst suspicions, and to overwhelm me again with anxiety and terror. I had one day left the house with my cousin Emily, in order to take a
ramble of considerable length, for the purpose of sketching some
favourite views, and she had walked about half a mile, when I perceived
that we had forgotten our drawing materials, the absence of which
would have defeated the object of our walk. Laughing at our own
thoughtlessness, we returned to the house, and leaving Emily without, I
ran upstairs to procure the drawing-books and pencils, which lay in my
bedroom. As I ran up the stairs I was met by the tall, ill-looking Frenchwoman,
evidently a good deal flurried. "Que veut, madame?" said she, with a more decided effort to be polite
than I had ever known her make before. "No, no--no matter," said I, hastily running by her in the direction of
my room. "Madame," cried she, in a high key, "restez ici, s'il vous plait; votre
chambre n'est pas faite--your room is not ready for your reception yet." I continued to move on without heeding her.