"For mercy's sake, uncle, not before him!" almost shrieked Minnie, springing up in terror of something, she scarcely knew what, and glancing at Burton.
"Brother, brother!" cried Dorcas, grasping his arm, herself pale with anguish for her beloved niece; she knew Minnie better than any one else did, and dreaded the consequences of this ill-advised exposure, which would only harden a resolute mind, where reasoning and love might have soothed, and turned away from its will.
"But I will speak, Dorcas!" cried he. "I am advised to do so, and publicly, to show her what people will think of her. Minnie, I say, was sitting alone on a heap of ruins with that scoundrel, Miles Tremenhere, this worthy man's base-born cousin."
"Not base-born, uncle," cried Minnie, starting up again; she had dropped on her chair. At these words she forgot all but Miles's sacred love for his mother, who, by this slander of him, was doubly calumniated. "Not base-born, uncle, though that man say it. His mother was as pure as my own, or she had never given birth to so worthy a son!" then a sense of her shame, before so many, coming over her, she sank on her chair, and, covering her face, sobbed aloud. Dorcas clasped her in her arms; Dora, too, though trembling, pressed her hands, as she drew them from the face, which turned in maiden shame into Dorcas's neck.
"Brother," cried Sylvia, with self-satisfied scorn, "you always are discovering some wonder. You are wrong—quite wrong—as usual. If Minnie were there, 'twas wrong; but others are more to blame than she, and, I make no doubt, could explain, if they would." She glanced angrily at Dora, who certainly was colouring, though without noticing Sylvia's personality. Lady Ripley looked amazement on all. Juvenal was completely thrown out; he had made up a complete discourse, questions, answers, prayers, confessions, and final forgiveness—for he loved Minnie dearly, in his little way. Marmaduke almost would have preferred the lane and Miles's society, to this scene. There, he knew in his heart, he had no actual violence to fear, for every day was not one of retributive justice, as when his cousin avenged poor Mary Burns's case; but here he dreaded some unseen trap, to draw him into something which would bring Miles in revenge down upon him.
"I ask you, Burton," cried the perplexed Juvenal, at length, "whether we did not discover Minnie and your worthless cousin together? and whether you did not suggest our following her, on the assurance that they frequently met in secret? Come, speak out, Burton—they won't believe me," whined the wretched man. Dora raised her fine eyes, and fixed them intently upon the traitor. Lady Ripley rose. "Why—why," stammered Burton, "this is a most unpleasant affair—a family one—I have no right to be here. I would rather not reply," and he too rose.
"Stay!" cried Lady Dora, looking very pale, but with much dignity, placing herself in his way. "Mr. Burton has been chosen, or been selected, most unadvisedly by my uncle, to hear accusations against my dear cousin Minnie, who is, I am certain, innocent of all wrong. I am called upon to confess the truth, now—that I have sought, met, and walked, early in the morning with Mr. Tremenhere. My motive for so doing I will answer to my mother, and I know him to be incapable of wrong towards Minnie!"
"But, pardon me, Lady Dora!" exclaimed the amazed Burton, gaining courage from surprise. "You were assuredly not the person who met Mr. Tremenhere to-day."
"She wasn't here—she wasn't here!" cried the perplexed and heated Juvenal, almost in a fit from anxiety. "She only returned home before dinner."
Minnie tried to speak. "Hush!" exclaimed Dora, taking her hand. "Do not compromise yourself for me. You met him on my business. I will explain that satisfactorily, when I am bound so to do."