Even Esther, uttered a cry as she beheld her brother's face.
"Negro!" muttered Bernard Lynn, regarding Randolph in profound contempt.
"Well?" Randolph folded his arms, and steadily returned his gaze.
"I have, learned the secret in time, sir, in time," continued Bernard Lynn, "I am about to leave this house—"
"Well?" again exclaimed Randolph.
"I have saved her from this horrible match,—"
"Well?" for the third time replied Randolph, in complete nonchalance, and yet with that infernal light in his eyes.
A step was heard. Can this be Eleanor, who comes across the threshold, her dress torn, her bosom bared, her disheveled hair floating about that face which seems to have been touched by the hand of death?
Her hands clasped, her eyes downcast, she came on, with unsteady step, and sank at her father's feet. She did not once raise her eyes, but clasped his knees and buried her face on her bosom.
"Eleanor! Eleanor!" cried Bernard Lynn, "what does all this mean, my child?" and he sought to raise her from the floor, but she resisted him, and clutched his knees.