'Rowland, I only want your confidence; by Jove you shall have mine, even
though you are my successful rival; and I love you so well that I would
give her up to you, if it cost me--let me see--a voyage to the North
Pole.'
'Owen, this is no jesting matter. I have been a fool, I am ashamed of
myself, I am trying to conquer my feelings; leave me until I have
succeeded, and then--'
'But, Rowland, if she loves you, I don't see why you should try to
overcome your feelings. It would not be quite the right match,
certainly; but she would make a better parson's wife than a sailor's
wife after all; and my father might consent in time, and--'
'Owen, is it kind of you to make a jest of me?' asked Rowland, rising
from his chair, and resuming his walk up and down his room. 'If you had
ever really loved either of the many girls you have fancied you adored,
you would understand me better; but I deserve it all for my
presumption--my folly.'
'For that much, Rowland, perhaps I love her a trifle better than you do
at this very moment; still I am not selfish enough to come between you,
and would rather try absence and the northern latitudes; only just be
honest. I'm not quite such a piece of blubber as not to be capable of
constancy, though I may have been a rover until now; but when I see a
girl walk right away from me, and refuse to wait for me to go home with
her, and go straight off to another man, never mind if he was my father,
instead of my brother, I don't mean to break my heart about her.
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