'
'I cannot tell, Sir, about your promise,' said the doctor gravely; 'with
or without it, the crime is heinous, the cruelty immeasurable.'
'Dr. Walsingham,' cried Dick Devereux, a strange scorn ringing in his
accents, 'with all your learning you don't know the world; you don't
know human nature; you don't see what's passing in this very village
before your eyes every day you live. I'm not worse than others; I'm not
half so bad as fifty older fellows who ought to know better; but I'm
_sorry_, and 'tisn't easy to say that, for I'm as proud, proud as the
devil, proud as you; and if it were to my Maker, what more can I say?
I'm sorry, and if Heaven forgives us when we repent, I think our
wretched fellow-mortals may.'
'Captain Devereux, I've nothing to forgive,' said the parson, kindly.
'But I tell you, Sir, this cruel, unmeaning separation will be my
eternal ruin,' cried Devereux. 'Listen to me--by Heaven, you shall. I've
fought a hard battle, Sir! I've tried to forget her--to _hate_ her--it
won't do. I tell you, Dr. Walsingham, 'tis not in your nature to
comprehend the intensity of my love--you can't.
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