In a moment more he stood before her with folded arms, firmly-set mouth, and stern eyes.
“Espy, my son! Oh, I am so sorry!”
“Yes, mother,” he said, “my father and I have had a quarrel; he called me into his office as I passed, and ordered me to give up all thoughts of Floy—my little Floy that I’ve loved from my very infancy!”
“And what did you say, Espy?” she asked tremulously, feeling as if the very unreasonableness and tyranny of the command must have of itself almost deprived him of the power of speech.
“Say, mother? that he might as well ask me to shoot myself through the heart, and that I’d never give her up; I’d die first.”
“But—but, Espy, what—what if she gives you up?” gasped his mother, fairly frightened by his vehemence.
He staggered back as if struck by a heavy blow, while a deathly pallor overspread his face for an instant.
“But she will not!” he said hoarsely; “she has pledged herself to me, and she’ll never prove false to her word.”
“But she is very proud, Espy—too proud, I think, to come into a family where she’s not wanted; and she’s a good girl, and will see that it’s your duty to obey your father.”