"Oh! I shall return in a few months to take you and the child to a happy home in Canada."
"Ah, Frederick; why again tantalize me with your promises, and false prospects. Where, I ask you, is the happy home you promised me at Tiverton? Where is the matrimonial title you promised to honor me with? Ah! Fred! Consider for a moment, what you have done and what you are now doing. By your insinuating love you riveted my affection to your heart. It still continues unbroken and as tenacious as ever. You flattered me with honied words. You excited me with false hopes. My confidence, yea, my very self I rendered submissively to your honor. But, alas! the very prospects you reared for my delight you are now trampling beneath your feet. Am I to be left with my little child, to struggle alone against the adversities of this world, while the finger of scorn is directed toward me, and also toward my child, whose innocence will neither soften the harshness of the world's tongue nor justify the errors of those who gave to it an existence."
"Why, Clara," exclaimed Fred somewhat irritated, "you are really sarcastic and condemnatory in your remarks. Is this the sort of complimentary welcome I receive from you at my return? If so, I shall have to shorten my visit."
"Well, Fred, consider the matter judiciously, and you will not think me unreasonable in my accusations," replied Clara.
"Pooh, pooh," retorted Fred, "never allow your imagination to soar higher than your reason; curb down the irritable nerves of your temper; turn the dark side of life's picture towards the past, and keep always the bright side uppermost."
"It is easier said than done," she replied. "Had you rendered me the assistance in reality instead of broken promises, I might have been looking to-day upon the bright side of life."
"For goodness sake, Clara, do not tantalize me so unmercifully. I tell you that I have decided upon going to Canada, and I shall go. That country offers advantages unknown to England. Better hazard an adventure than remain forever riveted to hard labor here, and then die at last in the harness. Were I to marry you now I have no home but my father's to which I could remove you; better then to remain where you are, unmarried, than otherwise, for, I feel certain that Collins would turn you out as soon as he had discovered that I had both married and left you. But let me tell you but once and forever that I intend to become a husband to you as soon as I can find it convenient to procure a comfortable home."
"The old story again," ejaculated Clara, "and let me tell you, Fred, that if you go to Canada you will never make your circumstances convenient to fulfil your promise—no, never, never, Fred."
"I don't want to hear any more of such botheration," retorted Fred, irritably; and springing up from his seat, made his exit abruptly, leaving Clara to sigh out alone the sorrows of her heart in the solitude of her own reflections.
Mr. Collins, as I said before was a man possessed of a degraded nature, being much addicted to intemperance. Widow Hazledon had married him after a brief acquaintance. She had felt the necessity of a fatherly assistance and protection in the rearing of her young family; but in Collins she discovered when too late that she had mistaken his character. She, however, continued to make the best of a bad bargain. He was a carver by trade, and commanded good wages; but every Saturday night, he got drunk. His Sabbaths were generally devoted to the worship of Bacchus. Sometimes he would continue drinking for several days, until every penny was exhausted. Then he would make demands at home for more money, which if refused, he was sure to abuse his wife and family. He was not only a drunkard; he was a scoffer at religion, and considered it a mark of honor to take the name of God in vain.