“I have had news this morning, Mr Richards.”
“Good, I hope. An opening, perhaps, for business?”
“No, sir! Bad news—vile news—cruel news!” cried the young man excitedly.
“Sorry, very sorry,” said Richards, quietly. “Pray what is it, then?”
“It is the news of slave-dealing in this city, sir,” said Frank. “Of a father making a contract with a rich purchaser for the sale and delivery of his only child, as if she were so much merchandise, and I come, old man, to tell you to your face that it is cruel, and a scandal to our civilisation. But I beg pardon, Mr Richards; I am hot and excited. I am deeply moved. You know I love May, that we have loved from childhood, and that we are promised to one another. Don’t interrupt me, please.”
“I’m not going to,” said the old man, still quietly, to the other’s intense astonishment.
“I know what you would say to me if I were to advance my pretensions now. But look here, Mr Richards—I am young yet, May is young. I have been very unfortunate. I have had to buy experience, in spite of my endeavours, in a very dear school; but there is time for me to retrieve my position. I shall get on—I feel assured. For heaven’s sake, then, let this cruel affair be set aside: give me a few years to recover myself, and all will yet be well, I am sure. You will break her heart if you force her to marry this old man.”
“Who told you of this?” said John Richards, still calmly.
“I cannot tell you,” said Frank.
“Did May write to you?”