"My father! my poor father--"
"There is the sting of death; but he is a soldier and a Christian. Miss
Wharton, I would speak of what interests you, while yet I have strength
for the task."
"Nay," said Frances, tenderly, "compose yourself; let no desire to
oblige me endanger a life that is precious to--to--so many." The words
were nearly stifled by her emotions, for the other had touched a chord
that thrilled to her heart.
"Poor, sensitive girl!" said Isabella, regarding her with tender
interest; "but the world is still before you, and why should I disturb
the little happiness it may afford! Dream on, lovely innocent! and may
God keep the evil day of knowledge far distant!"
"Oh, there is even now little left for me to enjoy," said Frances,
burying her face in the clothes. "I am heartstricken in all that I
most loved."
"No!" interrupted Isabella; "you have one inducement to wish for life,
that pleads strongly in a woman's breast. It is a delusion that nothing
but death can destroy--" Exhaustion compelled her to pause, and her
auditors continued in breathless suspense, until, recovering her
strength, she laid her hand on that of Frances, and continued more
mildly, "Miss Wharton, if there breathes a spirit congenial to
Dunwoodie's, and worthy of his love, it is your own.
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