The String of Pearls (1850), p. 503

consequence was then, that directly he found me very different from what he wished me to be, he was very angry indeed, and then I put the finishing stroke to his displeasure, by committing the greatest crime that in his eyes I could commit: I fell in love."
"Humph!"
"Yes, sir, that was just what he said at first, when some officious friend told of it, and sending for me he said—'You must give up all love nonsense if you
wish to preserve my favour,' upon which I said—'Sir, did you never love?' 'That is not the question,' he said. 'It is of your follies now, not mine, that we
are speaking,' and so he turned me out of the room."
"And what did you do? Did you give up your love?"
"No, sir; if he had asked me to give up my life that would have been much easier to me."
"Go on. What then happened?"
"Why, sir, my uncle and I met very seldom, but there was one upon my track that he paid to follow me, and to report my actions to him; and that spy—oh, that I had caught him! that spy made my uncle acquainted with the fact, that I continued, despite his prohibition, to meet with the only being who ever awakened in my bosom a tender feeling; and so I was abandoned by my relative, and left penniless almost."
"But you had youth and health?"
"I had, and I resolved to make use of those advantages as best I might, by endeavouring while they lasted, frail and fluttering possessions as they are, to make a home for myself and for her whom I loved."
"The feeling, I presume, was reciprocal?"
"I thought so."
"Was it only a thought, then?"
"Alas! no. It was a certainty; and if an angel with wings fresh spread from Heaven, and carrying upon them the soft light of an eternal world, had come to
me and told me that she would be false to me, I would not have believed as much."
"And yet—"
"And yet, as you say, I have found her false. Well—well, Sir Richard—let me proceed. The thought of her unmans me at moments, but in time I may recover from such feelings."
"Most unquestionably you will; and then you will look to your present condition of mind with such a smile of incredulity, and only a faint faith in your own memory that paints you such feelings."
"I cannot say, sir, that it will not be so, but I do not think so. To proceed, however. I heard that an expedition was about to start to explore some rich islands in the Southern Sea. If successful, every one who took part in it would be enriched; and if unsuccessful, I could not lose my life in a better cause then in trying to make a happy home for her whom I love. I at once embraced the proposition, and became one of the adventurers, much against the inclination of the gentle girl whom I loved, and who in imagination pictured to herself a thousand dangers as involved in the enterprise."
"You went?"
"I did, and with every hope of returning in about a year an independent man. I thought little of the perils I was about to encounter in my voyage. I and the fair girl upon whom I had fixed my best hopes and affections parted, after many tears and protestations of fidelity. I kept my faith."
"And she?"
"Broke hers."
"As you think—as you think. You cannot be too cautious, my young friend, in making assertions of that character."
"Cautious, sir ? Am I to believe the evidence of my own eyes, or am I not?"
"Not always," said Sir Richard Blunt, calmly. "But I pray you go on with your narrative."