"
"She shall," whispered Dunwoodie.
"This good aunt has claims upon you already; of her I will not speak;
but here," taking the hand of Frances, and dwelling upon her countenance
with an expression of fraternal affection, "here is the choicest gift of
all. Take her to your bosom, and cherish her as you would cultivate
innocence and virtue."
The major could not repress the eagerness with which he extended his
hand to receive the precious boon; but Frances, shrinking from his
touch, hid her face in the bosom of her aunt.
"No, no, no!" she murmured. "None can ever be anything to me who aid in
my brother's destruction."
Henry continued gazing at her in tender pity for several moments, before
he again resumed a discourse that all felt was most peculiarly his own.
"I have been mistaken, then. I did think, Peyton, that your worth, your
noble devotion to a cause that you have been taught to revere, that your
kindness to our father when in imprisonment, your friendship for me,--in
short, that your character was understood and valued by my sister."
"It is--it is," whispered Frances, burying her face still deeper in the
bosom of her aunt.
"I believe, dear Henry," said Dunwoodie, "this is a subject that had
better not be dwelt upon now."
"You forget," returned the prisoner, with a faint smile, "how much I
have to do, and how little time is left to do it in.
Pages:
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498