“If it be lenient and considerate to punish you at all, John, for the misdeed of another,” she replied gently, “yes.”
“We have been an ill-omened race to him,” said John Carker. “He has reason to shrink from the sound of our name, and to think that there is something cursed and wicked in our blood. I should almost think it too, Harriet, but for you.”
“Brother, don’t speak like this. If you have any special reason, as you say you have, and think you have—though I say, No!—to love me, spare me the hearing of such wild mad words!”
He covered his face with both his hands; but soon permitted her, coming near him, to take one in her own.
“After so many years, this parting is a melancholy thing, I know,” said his sister, “and the cause of it is dreadful to us both. We have to live, too, and must look about us for the means. Well, well! We can do so, undismayed. It is our pride, not our trouble, to strive, John, and to strive together!”
A smile played on her lips, as she kissed his cheek, and entreated him to be of good cheer.
“Oh, dearest sister! Tied, of your own noble will, to a ruined man! whose reputation is blighted; who has no friend himself, and has driven every friend of yours away!”
“John!” she laid her hand hastily upon his lips, “for my sake! In remembrance of our long companionship!” He was silent “Now, let me tell you, dear,” quietly sitting by his side, “I have, as you have, expected this; and when I have been thinking of it, and fearing that it would happen, and preparing myself for it, as well as I could, I have resolved to tell you, if it should be so, that I have kept a secret from you, and that we have a friend.”
“What’s our friend’s name, Harriet?” he answered with a sorrowful smile.
“Indeed, I don’t know, but he once made a very earnest protestation to me of his friendship and his wish to serve us: and to this day I believe him.”