"Papa," Flossy said, very pale, stepping up to her lover, and clasping her hands about his brawny arm,—"you forget, papa, that this is the man I am going to marry."
"Mr. Plant," Burleigh said, lifting his head proudly, and drawing his tiny betrothed close to him, "I never pretended to be worthy of your daughter, and never hoped to be; but she could not find one who would love her better, or be more honest in trying to make her life happy."
"Uncle Chris," whispered Patty, taking his arm, "come into the library."
"God save us!" he ejaculated, looking at her. "What are you crying for?—There, Mr. Blood, shake hands. Good-night, both of you.—Come, Patty."
[CHAPTER XXXIX.]
THE NIGHT-WATCH.
"I think, Patty," her mother said as the last word of a long and vain argument, "that you'll end by bringing my gray hairs to a grave in a lunatic-asylum. You are crazy to think of sitting up with Peter to-night. You are tired out with your ride from Boston anyway."
"But Bathalina has a sick-headache, mother, and I'm only to stay until eleven. Good-night. I'd rather go."