And what was it that she was to
attempt? On looking this question in the face, at close quarters--it
wanted less than four weeks now of that wedding-day which Cornelia had
promised herself should see no wedding!--when she found herself pressed
so peremptorily as this for an answer, it might be imagined that she
turned pale at what was before her. And, indeed, the prospect, viewed in
its best light, was discouraging and desperate enough. For at what price
to herself must success be bought, and at what sacrifice be enjoyed? She
must either lose, or deserve to lose, all that a woman ought to hold
most sacred and most dear--home, the esteem and love of friends, the
protection of truth, and, above all, and worst of all, her own
self-respect. All these in exchange for a baffled, angry, selfish man,
at whose mercy she would be, with only one word to speak in
self-defense and justification; and it was much to be feared that he
would, considering the circumstances, reject and scoff at even that. The
one word was--she loved him! and, if there be any redeeming virtue in
it, let her, in Heaven's name, have the benefit thereof. She can rely on
nothing else.
But Cornelia would not be disheartened. If she saw the rocks ahead,
against whose fatal shoulders she was being swept--if she heard, dinning
in her ears, the rush and roar of the headlong, irresistible rapids--if
her eyes could penetrate the void which opened darkly beyond--she only
nerved herself the more resolutely, her glance was all the firmer, her
determination the more unfaltering.
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