"Catherine, hear me—I am neither traitor nor outlaw, and though associated with such for a moment, it is for your sake only.—I have wealth, Catherine,—substance enough and a fair name. Share these with me."—
"No, no! oh speak not so," said Catherine; "speak to me only of my father, and take me to him. He loved you well, Mr. Hunter, and you have not well repaid him."
"Choose, Catherine," said Hyland, gloomily; "if you will return to him, it shall be so:—I am not the ruffian to force you a step further against your will."
"Heaven for ever bless you!" cried the maiden. "Oh be quick, lest it be too late—Take me back, take me back!"
"Yes, take us back, take us back!" cried Phoebe, whose weak mind, yielding with facility to the contagion of Catherine's example, was now as full of terror as before.
"Think once more, Catherine," said the young Gilbert, with a faltering voice—"Of myself I speak not—I will not think what your return may cause me; but think of what wretchedness it must inevitably bring to you.—Catherine, there is sunshine for us in the island.—Say but the word—you will fly with me!"
"Never!—Oh my father! take me, Herman, to my father!"
"It is well," said the youth, sullenly; but motioning as if to assist her to the saddle, "you shall return to him."
"What fool's play is this? and why do you loiter?" cried Oran Gilbert, riding back to the group, who had been left by their sudden pause far behind: "To horse and to the river!"
"It cannot be," said Hyland: "we have erred,—we have done a great wrong, and must repair it. Brother, this maiden must be returned to her friends."