"
Frances shook her head, but remained silent.
"I ask for no joy--no demonstration of a felicity that you will not,
cannot feel, for months to come; but obtain a right to his powerful
name--give him an undisputed title to protect you--"
Again the maid made an impressive gesture of denial.
"For the sake of that unconscious sufferer"--pointing to Sarah, "for
your sake--for my sake--my sister--"
"Peace, Henry, or you will break my heart," cried the agitated girl.
"Not for worlds would I at such a moment engage in the solemn vows that
you wish. It would render me miserable for life."
"You love him not," said Henry, reproachfully. "I cease to importune you
to do what is against your inclinations."
Frances raised one hand to conceal her countenance, as she extended the
other towards Dunwoodie, and said earnestly,--
"Now you are unjust to me--before, you were unjust to yourself."
"Promise me, then," said Wharton, musing awhile in silence, "that as
soon as the recollection of my fate is softened, you will give my friend
that hand for life, and I am satisfied."
"I do promise," said Frances, withdrawing the hand that Dunwoodie
delicately relinquished, without even presuming to press it to his lips.
"Well, then, my good aunt," continued Henry, "will you leave me for a
short time alone with my friend? I have a few melancholy commissions
with which to intrust him, and would spare you and my sister the pain of
hearing them.
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