LITMIR.BIZ

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I can't bear to see you weep, and if you will be mine—my own little wife, you shall never have cause to shed another tear," he said, drawing her closer to him and kissing them away.

      "No, no, I cannot, I cannot! You must let me go; indeed you must!" she cried, shrinking from the touch of his lip upon her cheek, and averting her face, "I am doing wrong, very wrong to stay, here!"

      "No, I shall hold you fast for a few blissful moments at least;" he answered, tightening his grasp and repeating his caresses, as she struggled the harder to be free. "You cannot be so cruel as to refuse to hear my defence."

      "Oh, I cannot stay another moment—I must not hear another word, for every instant that I linger I am guilty of a fresh act of disobedience to papa. I shall be compelled to call for help it you do not loose your hold."

      He took his arm from her waist, but still held fast to her hand. "No, don't do that," he said; "think what a talk it would make. I shall detain you but a moment, and surely you may as well stay that much longer; 'in for a penny, in for a pound,' you know. Oh, Elsie, can't you give me a little hope."

      "If you can gain papa's approval, not otherwise."

      "But when you come of age."

      "I shall never marry without my father's consent."

      "Surely you carry your ideas of obedience too far. You owe a duty to yourself and to me, as well as to your father. Excuse my plainness, but in the course of nature we shall both outlive him, and is it right to sacrifice the happiness of our two lives because he has unfortunately imbibed a prejudice against me?"

      "I could expect no blessing upon a union entered into in direct opposition to my father's wishes and commands," she answered with sad and gentle firmness.

      "That's a hard kind of obedience; and I don't think it would answer to put in practice in all cases," he said bitterly.

      "Perhaps not; I do not attempt to decide for others; but I am convinced of my own duty; and know too that I should be wretched indeed, if I had to live under papa's frown. And oh, how I am disobeying him now! I must go this instant! Release my hand, Mr. Egerton." And she tried with all her strength to wrench it free.

      "No, no, not yet," he said entreatingly. "I have not given you half the proofs of my innocence that I can bring forward; do me the simple justice to stay and hear them."

      She made no reply but half yielded, ceasing her struggles for a moment. She had no strength to free her hand from his grasp, and could not bear to call others upon the scene. Trembling with agitation and eagerness, she waited for his promised proofs; but instead he only poured forth a continuous stream of protestations, expostulations and entreaties.

      "Mr. Egerton, I must, I must go," she repeated; "this is nothing to the purpose, and I cannot stay to hear it."

      A step was heard approaching; he hastily drew her toward him, touched his lips again to her cheek, released her, and she darted from the room by one door, as Lucy entered by another.

      "Where is she? gone? what's the matter? wasn't she pleased to see you? wouldn't she stay?"

      Lucy looked into the disappointed, angry, chagrined face of Egerton, and in her surprise and vexation piled question upon question without giving him time to answer.

      "No, the girl's a fool!" he muttered angrily, and turning hastily from her, paced rapidly to and fro for a moment; then suddenly recollecting himself, "I beg pardon, Miss Carrington," he said, coming back to the sofa on which she sat regarding him with a perturbed, displeased countenance, "I—I forgot myself; but you will perhaps, know how to excuse an almost distracted lover."

      "Really, sir," returned Lucy coolly, "your words just now did not sound very lover-like; and would rather lead one to suspect that possibly Mr. Dinsmore may be in the right."

      He flushed hotly. "What can you mean, Miss Carrington?"

      "That your love is for her fortune rather than for herself."

      "Indeed you wrong me. I adore Miss Dinsmore, and would consider myself the happiest of mortals could I but secure her hand, even though she came to me penniless. But she has imbibed the most absurd, ridiculous ideas of filial duty and refuses to give me the smallest encouragement unless I can gain her father's consent and approval; which, seeing he has conceived a violent dislike to me, is a hopeless thing. Now can you not realize that the more ardent my love for her, the more frantically impatient I would feel under such treatment?"

      "Perhaps so; men are so different from women; but nothing could ever make me apply such an epithet to the man I loved."

      "Distracted with disappointed hopes, I was hardly a sane man at the moment, Miss Carrington," he said deprecatingly.

      "The coveted interview has proved entirely unsatisfactory then?" she said in a tone of inquiry.

      "Yes; and yet I am most thankful to have had sight and speech of her once more; truly grateful to you for bringing it about so cleverly. But—oh, Miss Carrington, could you be persuaded to assist me still further, you would lay me under lasting obligations!"

      "Please explain yourself, sir," she answered coldly, moving farther from him, as he attempted to take her hand.

      "Excuse me," he said. "I am not one inclined to take liberties with ladies; but I am hardly myself to-day; my overpowering emotion—my half distracted state of mind—"

      Breaking off his sentence abruptly, and putting his hand to his head, "I believe I shall go mad if I have to resign all hope of winning the sweet, lovely Elsie," he exclaimed excitedly, "and I see only one way of doing it. If I could carry her off, and get her quite out of her father's reach, so that no fear of him need deter her from following the promptings of her own heart, I am sure I could induce her to consent to marry me at once. Miss Carrington, will you help me?"

      "Never! If Elsie chooses to run away with you, and wants any assistance from me, she shall have it; but I will have nothing to do with kidnapping."

      He urged, entreated, used every argument he could think of, but with no other effect than rousing Lucy's anger and indignation; "underhand dealings were not in her line," she told him, and finally—upon his intimating that what she had already done might be thought to come under that head—almost ordered him out of the house.

      He went, and hurrying to her friend's room, she found her walking about it in a state of great agitation, and weeping bitterly.

      "Oh, Lucy, how could you? how could you?" she cried, wringing her hands and sobbing in pitiable distress. "I had no thought of him when I went down; I did not know you knew him, or that he was in this part of the country at all. I was completely taken by surprise, and have disobeyed papa's most express commands, and he will never forgive me, never! No, not that either, but he will be very, very angry. Oh, what shall I do!"

      "Oh, Elsie, dear, don't be so troubled! I am as sorry as I can be," said Lucy, with tears in her eyes. "I meant to do you a kindness; indeed I did; I thought it would be a joyful surprise to you.

      "I met him last summer at Saratoga. He came there immediately from Lansdale, and somehow we found out directly that we both knew you, and that I was a near neighbor and very old friend of yours; and he told me the whole story of your love-affair, and quite enlisted me in his cause; he seemed so depressed and melancholy at your loss, and grieved so over the hasty way in which your father had separated you,—not even allowing a word of farewell.

      "He told me he hoped and believed you were still faithful to him in your heart, but he could not get to see or speak to you, or hold any correspondence with you. And so I arranged this way of bringing you together."

      "It was kindly meant, I have no doubt, Lucy, but oh, you don't know what you have done! I tremble at the very thought of papa's anger when he hears it; for I have done and permitted things he said he would not allow for thousands of dollars."

      "Well, dear, I don't think you could help it; and I'm so sorry for my share in it," said Lucy, putting her arms round her, and kissing her wet cheek. "But perhaps your father will not be so very angry with you after all; and at any rate you are too

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