I approached her with a confidence and for a purpose at
which, upon reflection, I am not a little surprised; but the being
called Mervyn is not the same in her company and in that of another. What is the difference, and whence comes it? Her words and looks engross
me. My mind wants room for any other object. But why inquire whence the
difference? The superiority of her merits and attractions to all those
whom I knew would surely account for my fervour. Indifference, if I
felt it, would be the only just occasion of wonder. The hour was, indeed, too late, and I hastened home. Stevens was waiting
my return with some anxiety. I apologized for my delay, and recounted to
him what had just passed. He listened with more than usual interest. When I had finished,--

"Mervyn," said he, "you seem not be aware of your present situation. From what you now tell me, and from what you have formerly told me, one
thing seems very plain to me." "Pr'ythee, what is it?" "Eliza Hadwin:--do you wish--could you bear--to see her the wife of
another?" "Five years hence I will answer you. Then my answer may be, 'No; I wish
her only to be mine.' Till then, I wish her only to be my pupil, my
ward, my sister." "But these are remote considerations; they are bars to marriage, but not
to love. Would it not molest and disquiet you to observe in her a
passion for another?" "It would, but only on her own account; not on mine. At a suitable age
it is very likely I may love her, because it is likely, if she holds on
in her present career, she will then be worthy; but at present, though I
would die to insure her happiness, I have no wish to insure it by
marriage with her." "Is there no other whom you love?" "No. There is one worthier than all others; one whom I wish the woman
who shall be my wife to resemble in all things." "And who is this model?" "You know I can only mean Achsa Fielding." "If you love her likeness, why not love herself?" I felt my heart leap.--"What a thought is that! Love her I _do_ as I
love my God; as I love virtue. To love her in another sense would brand
me for a lunatic." "To love her as a woman, then, appears to you an act of folly." "In me it would be worse than folly. 'Twould be frenzy." "And why?" "Why? Really, my friend, you astonish me. Nay, you startle me--for a
question like that implies a doubt in you whether I have not actually
harboured the thought." "No," said he, smiling, "presumptuous though you be, you have not,
to-be-sure, reached so high a pitch. But still, though I think you
innocent of so heinous an offence, there is no harm in asking why you
might not love her, and even seek her for a wife." Achsa Fielding _my wife_! Good Heaven!--The very sound threw my soul
into unconquerable tumults. "Take care, my friend," continued I, in
beseeching accents, "you may do me more injury than you conceive, by
even starting such a thought." "True," said he, "as long as such obstacles exist to your success; so
many incurable objections: for instance, she is six years older than
you." "That is an advantage. Her age is what it ought to be." "But she has been a wife and mother already." "That is likewise an advantage. She has wisdom, because she has
experience. Her sensibilities are stronger, because they have been
exercised and chastened. Her first marriage was unfortunate. The purer
is the felicity she will taste in a second! If her second choice be
propitious, the greater her tenderness and gratitude." "But she is a foreigner; independent of control, and rich." "All which are blessings to herself, and to him for whom her hand is
reserved; especially if, like me, he is indigent." "But then she is unsightly as a _night-hag_, tawny as a Moor, the eye of
a gipsy, low in stature, contemptibly diminutive, scarcely bulk enough
to cast a shadow as she walks, less luxuriance than a charred log, fewer
elasticities than a sheet pebble." "Hush! hush! blasphemer!" --(and I put my hand before his mouth)--"have I
not told you that in mind, person, and condition, she is the type after
which my enamoured fancy has modelled my wife?" "Oh ho! Then the objection does not lie with you. It lies with her, it
seems. She can find nothing in you to esteem! And, pray, for what faults
do you think she would reject you?" "I cannot tell. That she can ever balance for a moment, on such a
question, is incredible. _Me! me!_ That Achsa Fielding should think of
me!" "Incredible, indeed! You, who are loathsome in your person, an idiot in
your understanding, a villain in your morals! deformed! withered! vain,
stupid, and malignant. That such a one should choose _you_ for an idol!" "Pray, my friend," said I, anxiously, "jest not. What mean you by a hint
of this kind?" "I will not jest, then, but will soberly inquire, what faults are they
which make this lady's choice of you so incredible? You are younger than
she, though no one, who merely observed your manners and heard you talk,
would take you to be under thirty. You are poor: are these impediments?" "I should think not. I have heard her reason with admirable eloquence
against the vain distinctions of property and nation and rank. They were
once of moment in her eyes; but the sufferings, humiliations, and
reflections of years have cured her of the folly. Her nation has
suffered too much by the inhuman antipathies of religious and political
faction; she, herself, has felt so often the contumelies of the rich,
the high-born, and the bigoted, that----"

"Pr'ythee, then, what dost imagine her objections to be?" "Why--I don't know. The thought was so aspiring; to call her _my wife_
was a height of bliss the very far-off view of which made my head
dizzy." "A height, however, to attain which you suppose only her consent, her
love, to be necessary?" "Without doubt, her love is indispensable." "Sit down, Arthur, and let us no longer treat this matter lightly. I
clearly see the importance of this moment to this lady's happiness and
yours. It is plain that you love this woman. How could you help it? A
brilliant skin is not hers; nor elegant proportions; nor majestic
stature: yet no creature had ever more power to bewitch. Her manners
have grace and dignity that flow from exquisite feelings, delicate
taste, and the quickest and keenest penetration. She has the wisdom of
men and of books. Her sympathies are enforced by reason, and her
charities regulated by knowledge. She has a woman's age, fortune more
than you wish, and a spotless fame. How could you fail to love her? "_You_, who are her chosen friend, who partake her pleasures and share
her employments, on whom she almost exclusively bestows her society and
confidence, and to whom she thus affords the strongest of all indirect
proofs of impassioned esteem,--how could you, with all that firmness of
love, joined with all that discernment of her excellence, how could you
escape the enchantment? "You have not thought of marriage. You have not suspected your love.