"If I were as rich as Croesus, sir, I would not _accept_ her hand
without her heart; but, Mr Hazlit, I am richer than Croesus!"
"What do you mean, sir?"
"I mean that I am rich in the possession of that which a world's wealth
could not purchase--your daughter's affections."
"Impossible! Mr Berrington, your passion urges you to deceive
yourself."
"You will believe what she herself says, I suppose?" asked Edgar,
plunging his hand into a breast-pocket.
"Of course I will."
"Well then, listen," said the youth, drawing out a small three-cornered
note. "A good many months ago, when I found my business to be in a
somewhat flourishing condition, I ventured to write to Aileen, telling
her of my circumstances, of my unalterable love, and expressing a wish
that she would write me at least one letter to give me hope that the
love, which she, allowed me to _understand_ was in her breast _before_
you forbade our intercourse, still continued. This," he added, handing
the three-cornered note to the old gentleman, "is her reply."