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man below, has some suspicion of this, and he has questioned me.’

“‘And what did you tell him? What did you know?’

“'Nothing, sister—nothing.’

“‘But he-he said something. You began to suspect me, and came prying up here. Brother! brother!’ “There was scorn and grief in her words that would have made me sink into the earth if I had really done the thing she charged me with. As it was, my temper rose. "‘No, Sarah,’ I said, ashamed that my voice would shake so. ‘No, Sarah, Mr. Bentley, our  visitor, said nothing that you have a right to be  angry about. “‘But he said something. Tell me what it was.

‘“He only asked what wedding it was that his poor cousin came to attend, Sarah.”

“‘What wedding!’ she cried, catching hold of my arm, and almost shaking me. ‘What wedding! Did he say that? Did he in solemn truth mention a wedding?’

‘“Yes, Sarah,’ I answered, looking hard at her, ‘and I thought, from his way of wording it, that he had an idea that the cousin himself was coming to be married to some one in these parts.’

“I stopped short, for the sight of her face fairly made me hold my breath. Her cheeks, which had been pale as death before, kindled up; her lips parted with an eager expression, as if some iron spring had unlocked in them; and her eyes—Sarah had handsome eyes when she was pleased or angry—shone like stars.

“‘And you believed this? You thought, per¬ haps, that it was—was-’

“She stopped short, and the anxious paleness began to creep over her again.

“I understood her, and answered as if she had spoken out.

“‘Yes, I did think that, Sarah. Those letters, your strange ways, all came back to my mind; and why not? He was a smart young fellow, handsome and rich: the neighbors might have said it was a good match for you; but I think you were the mate for his betters any day—for the king on his throne, if such things could grow in a free country like ours, Sarah—so, if it was the truth, out with it. The fellow down stairs seems mighty anxious to know all about his cousin’s affairs. He spoke about searching the papers in that trunk.’

“Sarah clutched the letters in her hand, and laughed.

‘Well, let him search,’ she said. ‘It is an easy matter; the lock is torn open, and he will find but few papers.’

‘But those in your hand, Sarah!’

“She took my hand in hers, and with one of the winning gestures which no one could resist, lifted it to her lips, hard and brown as it was. ‘Don’t, please don’t ask me any more questions!’ she said; “it can do no earthly good, when a thing is over. Why give me so much pain? Can’t you see how I suffer?’

“I took her close to my bosom, and kissed her cheek, ready to cry: for she could make a child   of me any time. She kissed me back two or three times, then, leaning her head on my shoulder, began to sob.

“‘Did you love him so much; darling?’ I whispered, folding her close again.

“‘Don’t ask; but this other man, do not let him question you more: and, above all, keep my secret about the letters.’

“I started, and put her away from my bosom. This« persistence in keeping a secret which was really no discredit offended me.

“‘Sarah,’ I said, ‘this is worse than I would have believed of you. Why are you ashamed of this engagement?’

“‘Think no ill of me, I charge you,’ she said, starting back with a haughty throw of the head, “I have done rights—will do right, but must be left alone!’

“‘Very well,’ I said, hurt by her want of con¬ fidence, ‘you throw away my advice, and do not want my help. Good morning, Sarah; you have given me the heart-ache, that’s all!’

“‘No, no!’ she said, drawing close to me again. ‘I want your help just now. Only give it frankly, and without these terrible questions. I am not well. You can see that watching and crying has made me nervous and half sick. I was about to ask you about some way of strengthen¬ ing myself up a little. Hetty, too, is worn out In short, we want to get away from home: you know father promised us music lessons in the city. I am sure the sea air will be good for us both. What do you think of it, Dan?’

“She spoke rapidly and half out of breath, darting quick glances at me from under her eye¬ lashes, as if afraid that I would oppose her. In fact, I did feel like it at first: and was about to say so, but she caught the words from my lips, and broke out in a wild, pleading way that changed my feelings at once.

“Don’t, oh! don’t say that, Dan! I am sick— suffering. If you won’t send me away I shall go into a decline and die on your hands. Can’t you see how I pine—how thin I grow?’

“She pulled up her sleeve and showed me her