“Jael,” said Miss Carden, “oblige me by ringing the bell.”
A servant entered.
“Not at home to any human creature,” said the young lady.
The servant retired.
“And, if they see me at the window, all the worse—for THEM. Now, Mr. Little?”
Henry complied, and told the whole story, with the exception of the threat to his sweetheart; and passed two delightful hours. Who is so devoid of egotism as not to like to tell his own adventures to sympathizing beauty? He told it in detail, and even read them portions of the threatening letters; and, as he told it, their lovely eyes seemed on fire; and they were red, and pale, by turns. He told it, like a man, with dignity, and sobriety, and never used an epithet. It was Miss Carden who supplied the “Monsters!” “Villains!” “Cowards!” “Wretches!” at due intervals. And once she started from her seat, and said she could not bear it. “I see through it all,” she cried. “That Jobson is a hypocrite; and he is at the bottom of it all. I hate him; and Parkin worse. As for the assassin, I hope God, who saw him, will punish him. What I want to do is to kill Jobson and Parkin, one after another; kill them—kill them—kill them—I'll tell papa.”
As for Jael, she could not speak her mind, but she panted heavily, and her fingers worked convulsively, and clutched themselves very tight at last.
When he had done his narrative, he said sadly, “I despise these fellows as much as you do; but they are too many for me. I am obliged to leave Hillsborough.”
“What, let the wretches drive you away? I would never do that—if I was a man.”
“What would you do, then?” asked Henry, his eye sparkling.