“You have seen all and heard all,” cried the excited youth. “Sir Richard, give me little Hope to wife and I promise to do and be all you ask of me.”
The two calm, stern men glanced at each other, and each smiled, it might have been thoughtfully, it might have been in scorn; whichever it was, the effect was to irritate the already vehement youth and he went on:
“Yes, you contemn us both; we have always been met with scorn and contempt. Because we do not join your long, canting, hypocritical prayers, you have caused us to live like outcasts in the land. My very soul loathes the doings of this people, and by the God above, if you do not give me Hope to wife, I will have her, if I back my suit with an army of Indians.”
“In sooth, you would make a pretty pair,” retorted the elder Bonyton, in clear, cold tones and a sarcastic curl of the lip.
“Do not taunt me now, father; I can not bear it,” and he went on more calmly. “Give me Hope, Sir Richard, and I will leave this wild life; I will plant, study, fish, go to sea, and even aim to be eminent in the church; any thing that you and my father may exact, I will do, only give me this one desire of my life.”
It may be this appeal from the young, handsome lips of the boy touched some delicate, long-silent link in the chain of association in the mind of Sir Richard Vines, for his look and voice softened, and he laid his hand tenderly upon the shoulder of the youth, and said:
“On my soul, John, I am sorry for this, most sorry. Go to England, my dear boy; this wild land affords no scope for a mind like yours. I will give you letters to my noble kinsmen, who will promote your interest, and you will forget all this.”
“Never—never!” returned the youth.
“Time works wonders, my boy.”
“Alas! it makes the noble forget their youth and the true forget their truth!”