In his course
through the world (of which he was getting very tired), he had never seen
a woman, a lady who was so--you understand, Ethel--whom he admired so
much, who was likely to make so good a wife for him as you are. "You
allude," he continued, "to differences we have had--and we have had them
--but many of them, I own, have been from my fault. I have been bred up
in a way different to most young men. I cannot help it if I have had
temptations to which other men are not exposed; and have been placed by--
by Providence--in a high rank of life; I am sure if you share it with me
you will adorn it, and be in every way worthy of it, and make me much
better than I have been. If you knew what a night of agony I passed after
my mother read that letter to me--I know you'd pity me, Ethel,--I know
you would. The idea of losing you makes me wild. My mother was dreadfully
alarmed when she saw the state I was in; so was the doctor--I assure you
he was. And I had no rest at all, and no peace of mind, until I
determined to come down to you; and say that I adored you, and you only;
and that I would hold to my engagement in spite of everything--and prove
to you that--that no man in the world could love you more sincerely than
I do.
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