“That it might be blacker can at least be said, and that is why I wish thee not to let thy feelings set too strongly against Lord Clowes. Here ’s a peer of England, Jan, with wealth as well, eager to wed thee. He is not what I would have him, but it would be a load off my mind and off thy mother’s to feel that thy future at least is made safe and—”
“I’d die sooner than live such a future,” cried the girl. “I could not live with him!”
“Yet ye ran off with this man.”
“But then I did not know him as I know him now. You won’t force me, will you, dadda?”
“That I’ll not; but act not impulsively, lass. Talk with thy mother, and view it from all sides. And meantime, we’ll hope he’ll not hear of the poor lad’s death.”
Left alone by her father to digest this advice, Janice lapsed into a despondent attitude, while remarking: “’T is horrible, and never could I bring myself to it. Starvation would be easier.” She sat a little time pondering; then, getting her cloak, calash, and pattens, she set forth, the look of thought displaced by one of determination. A hurried walk of a few squares brought her to the Franklin house, where she asked for André.
“Miss Meredith,” cried the captain, as he appeared at the door, “this is indeed an honour! But why tarry you outside?”
“I fear me, Captain André, that I am doing a monstrous bold thing, and therefore will not enter, but beg of you instead that you walk with me a little distance, for I am in a real difficulty and would ask your help.”
The officer caught up his hat and sword, and in a moment they were walking down Second Street. Several times Janice unsuccessfully sought to begin her tale, but André finally had to come to her assistance.
“You surely do not fear to trust me, Miss Meredith, and you cannot doubt the surety of assistance, if it be within my power?”