"I shall never forget her, ma'am," replied Isabel, firmly, "never."
"Lead the child away and talk with her alone. This little creature seems intelligent, I will gather something of their history from her," said the Judge.
When Mary saw that the gentleman was about to address her, she arose and stood meekly before him, as he leaned against the elm.
"So, you would not like to have the little girl go away and leave you here?"
Mary struggled bravely with herself, her bosom heaved, she could not keep the tears from swelling to her eyes, but she answered truly and from her aching heart.
"If she will be better off. If you will love her as—as I do, as they did, I will try to think it best!"
"You will try to think it best," repeated the gentleman, and the smile that trembled across his lips was beautiful; "if she goes, my little girl, you shall go with her!"
"Me!" said Mary, lifting up her meek eyes to his face. "Oh, sir, don't make fun of me. Nobody would ever think of making a pet of me!"
"No, not a pet, that is not the word, but, if God prospers us, we will make a good and noble woman of you!" said the gentleman, with generous energy.
"Oh, don't, don't—if you are not in earnest—don't say this!" said the child, almost panting for breath.