When he entered the carriage, and seated himself by Drusilla’s side, she turned to him with a sweet, bright confiding look, that smote him to the heart.
“Oh, do not smile on me so, my child! I have been too thoughtless of your good. But you shall have justice—full justice—grand justice! By the heavens above, you shall, cost it what it may!” he exclaimed.
She looked at him now in much distress, and faltered forth the question:
“Will you tell me what has so disturbed you?”
He reflected for a moment, and then answered firmly, though kindly:
“No, Drusilla—not for the world. To tell you would be to wrong you. Trust in me, my child.”
“Oh, I do, I do, as I trust in heaven!” she answered, fervently.
“And I will never betray that innocent trust, and may the Lord deal with me as I shall deal with you, my child!” he said, reverently lifting his hat.
In the meantime the carriage, bowling along at a rapid rate, brought them back to the house.
“You have forborne to ask me what passed in my interview with the school mistress, (Satan fly away with her!” he muttered between his teeth,) “and you have done well. If the conversation had been proper for you to hear, I should have repeated it to you,” said Alexander, as they entered the house.