“Think, Muriel,” he cried, turning suddenly, “think of the baseness of this uncle of yours. To refuse his own sister the man her charity had sheltered! If he had found refuge in the house of a stranger, I could conceive it; but to take him from here! And she knelt to him. Knelt to him in her agony, and he could deny her! Oh, avarice, avarice! His wretched cotton-trade is affected, and to that he sacrifices the ties of blood, the feelings of a sister, honor, pity, charity, manhood, everything. Let me not think of it. Come, Richard, come; let us try our fortune.”
At that moment Emily returned.
“I have prevailed upon Mrs. Eastman,” she said, “to sleep with me to-night. I could not bear to think of her being alone in this affliction.”
“Kind Emily,” said Muriel, fondly embracing her. “You anticipated me. Alas! poor mother! But, come, Emily, say good bye to Richard, for he is going.”
Emily ran to Wentworth’s arms, and kissed him.
“You’ll come back safe, I know,” she said, cheerfully.
“That I will,” he returned, with a gay laugh; “and wo to the man of the tarry trowsers who interferes with my safe return.”
“Adieu, Muriel,” said Harrington, embracing and kissing her. “We will not part forever,” he added, with a sad smile, “for I feel that I am to come back again.”
“So do I,” she replied. “Good bye. We will wait tea for you, gentlemen.”
They departed, and Muriel and Emily sat down, under the eyes of the silent Tugmutton, to await their return.