On one occasion, she had heard her unhappy aunt taunt him with his want of fortune and charge him with mercenary motives in marrying her. She had seen her uncle’s dark cheek flame, and had noticed how hard it was for him to keep his temper; and she had left her play and gone and sat down by his side, and put her little arms around his knee and laid her shining head upon it.
That had soothed and silenced him. He could not give way to his evil spirit in the presence of the child.
But, mind, when at length he arose and left the parlor, and Gloria found herself alone with her aunt, she rebuked that passionate woman fearlessly.
“You treat my uncle worse than you would dare to treat any negro slave on the promontory,” she exclaimed, in angry tears.
“He is not your uncle,” was all the lady said in reply.
“He is your husband, then! And you treat him worse than you would dare to treat any one else in the world, just because he is a gentleman and cannot retort upon you. You just dare to talk to old ’Phia as you talk to him, and she would give you such a tongue-lashing as you would not get over in a month.”
“If you do not cease your impertinence at once, Miss, I will give you such a whip-lashing as you won’t get over in six!” exclaimed the angry woman.
“No you will not, auntie! If you were to lay a whip upon me, only once, you would repent it all your life, and you would never have a chance to do it again. You are my auntie; but my uncle is my guardian, and he would lead me out of this house and we would never return to it. You know that!”
“Oh, Heaven! It is too true, for he loves me not at all!” breathed the poor woman, losing all self-command, and utterly breaking down in humiliation.
In a moment the child was at her side—at her feet.