“She's fond o' Charley Hanlon, to my own knowledge.”
“Who is?”
“Sarah, an' between you an' me, it's not a Brinoge like him that's fit for her. She's a, hasty and an uncertain kind of a girl—:a good dale wild or so—an' it isn't, as I said, the! likes o' that chap that 'id answer her, but a steady, experienced, sober—”
“Honest man, Rody. Well, I'm not in a laughin' humor, now; be off, an' see that you do yourself an' us all credit.”
When he was gone, the Prophet drew a long breath—one, however, from its depth, evidently indicative of anything but ease of mind. He then rose, and was preparing to go out, when Sarah, who had only laid herself on the bed, without undressing, got up, and approaching him, said, in a voice tremulous with weakness:
“Father, I have heard every word you and Rody said.”
“Well,” replied her father, looking at her, “I supposed as much. I made no secret of anything; however, keep to your bed—you're—”
“Father, I have changed my mind; you have neither my heart nor wish in anything you're bent on this night.”
“Changed your mind!” replied the Prophet, bitterly. “Oh! you're a real woman, I suppose, like your mother; you'll drive some unfortunate man to hate the world an all that's in it yet?”
“Father, I care as little about the world as you do; but still never will I lay myself out to do anything that's wrong.”