“Ah! Yes. Very well, Mr. Albertson, what is it you wish to say to me?”
“Simply, sir, that I have come to ask the privilege of addressing your daughter Eunice.”
Instantly the whole manner of the merchant changed. A heavy frown settled upon his brow, and his eyes became angry in their expression.
“Mr. Albertson,” he said, in a firm, resolute voice, “your presumption surprises me! Who are you? And what claims have you to the hand of my daughter?”
“The claim of an honest man who loves your daughter,” replied Albertson.
“Go, sir! Go!” exclaimed Townsend, losing all patience at this cool response, “and don’t dare to think of an alliance with my child! It shall never take place! Go, sir! Go!”
And he waived his hand for the young man to retire.
Albertson attempted to urge some considerations upon the excited merchant, but an order to leave the counting-room, followed by an insulting expression, caused him instantly to depart.
An hour or two afterward, Eunice received the following brief note from her lover:
“I have seen your father, and he has met my request with an angry refusal. Have I nothing to hope? You said his consent was indispensable. Are you still of that mind? Dear Eunice! shall the will of another prevent the union of our hearts? I feel that, upon every principle of right, this ought not to be. Write to me immediately, and oh! do not extinguish every light of hope. Let one at least burn, even if its rays be feeblest.”