“Swear,” said the unconscionable woman.
“Nay, verily,” replied the meekest of men, “I cannot swear, my Rachel, being a quaker; but I will affirm.”
“Swear, swear,” cried the lady, in an imperious tone, “or I will never be your Araminta.”
“I swear,” said Nat Gazabo, in a timid voice.
“Then, Natty, I consent to be Mrs. Hodges Gazabo. Only remember always to call me your dear Araminta.”
“My dear Araminta! thus,” said he, embracing her, “thus let me thank thee, my dear Araminta!”
It was in the midst of these thanks that the maid interrupted the well-matched pair, with the news that a young lady was below, who was in a great hurry to see Miss Hodges.
“Let her come,” said Miss Hodges; “I suppose it is only one of the Miss Carvers—Don’t stir, Nat; it will vex her to see you kneeling to me—don’t stir, I say—”
“Where is she? Where is my Araminta?” cried Miss Warwick, as the maid was trying to open the outer passage-door for her, which had a bad lock.
“Get up, get up, Natty; and get some fresh water in the tea-kettle—quick!” cried Miss Hodges, and she began to clear away some of the varieties of literature, &c., which lay scattered about the room. Nat, in obedience to her commands, was making his exit with all possible speed, when Angelina entered, exclaiming—