“Fear not, dear Wilton,” it said:  “I have only time to
    bid you not to fear.  I am yours, ever yours; and whatever
    you may be told, never believe that I give even one thought
    to any other man. 
                                        “Laura Gaveston.”

She signed her name at full, as if she felt that it was a solemn act—­not exactly a pledge, that would bind her in the least, more than her own resolutions had already bound her—­but a pledge to Wilton’s heart—­a pledge to which in after years she could always refer, if at any time the hand of another man should be proposed to her.

She had wept while she had written it, but it had given her deep satisfaction to do that act; for she figured to her self the balm, the consolation, the support which it would be to him that she loved best on earth—­yes, best on earth; for though she loved her father deeply, she loved Wilton more.

When the high command went forth, “Thou shalt leave all on earth and cleave unto thy husband or thy wife,” the God that made the ordinance fashioned the human heart for its accomplishment.  It would seem treating a high subject somewhat lightly, perhaps, to say that it may even be by the will of God that parents so very frequently behave ill or unkindly to their children in the matter of their marriage, in order to lessen the breaking of that great tie—­in order that the scion may be stripped from the stem more easily.  But it were well if parents thought of the effect that they produce in their children’s affection towards them by such conduct; for youth is tenacious of the memories of unkindness, and often retains the unpleasant impression that it makes, when the prejudices that produced it have passed away.

However that might be, Laura loved Wilton, as we have said, best on earth; she had a duty to perform to him, and she had a duty to perform to her father, and she determined to perform them both; for she believed—­and she was right—­that no two duties are ever incompatible:  the greater must swallow up the less; and to let it do so, is a duty in itself; but in the present instance there were two duties which were perfectly compatible.  She would never marry Wilton while her father opposed; but she would never marry any one else; for she felt that in heart she was already wedded unto him.

The words that she wrote gave Wilton that assurance, and it was a bright and happy assurance to him:  for so long as there is nothing irrevocable in the future, the space which it affords gives room for Hope to spread her wings; and though he might feel bitterly and deeply depressed by the conduct of the Duke, and the stern determination which he had displayed, yet with love—­with mutual love, and firmness of heart on both sides, he thought that happiness might be in deed delayed, but was not permanently lost.