nor, "do not speak so; I ask nothing for
myself; and what I ask for my father, it cannot harm you to grant."

"I would give her my soul, if it would serve her," said Bold, still
addressing his sister; "everything I have is hers, if she will accept
it; my house, my heart, my all; every hope of my breast is centred in
her; her smiles are sweeter to me than the sun, and when I see her in
sorrow as she now is, every nerve in my body suffers. No man can love
better than I love her."

"No, no, no," ejaculated Eleanor; "there can be no talk of love
between us. Will you protect my father from the evil you have brought
upon him?"

"Oh, Eleanor, I will do anything; let me tell you how I love you!"

"No, no, no!" she almost screamed. "This is unmanly of you, Mr Bold.
Will you, will you, will you leave my father to die in peace in his
quiet home?" and seizing him by his arm and hand, she followed him
across the room towards the door. "I will not leave you till you
promise me; I'll cling to you in the street; I'll kneel to you before
all the people. You shall promise me this, you shall promise me this,
you shall--" And she clung to him with fixed tenacity, and reiterated
her resolve with hysterical passion.

"Speak to her, John; answer her," said Mary, bewildered by the
unexpected vehemence of Eleanor's manner; "you cannot have the cruelty
to refuse her."

"Promise me, promise me," said Eleanor; "say that my father is
safe;--one word will do. I know how true you are; say one word, and I
will let you go."

She still held him, and looked eagerly into his face, with her hair
dishevelled and her eyes all bloodshot. She had no thought now of
herself, no care now for her appearance; and yet he thought he had
never seen her half so lovely; he was amazed at the intensity of her
beauty, and could hardly believe that it was she whom he had dared to
love. "Promise me," said she; "I will not leave you till you have
promised me."

"I will," said he at length; "I do--all I can do, I will do."

"Then may God Almighty bless you for ever and ever!" said Eleanor; and
falling on her knees with her face in Mary's lap, she wept and sobbed
like a child: her strength had carried her through her allotted task,
but now it was well nigh exhausted.

In a while she was partly recovered, and got up to go, and would have
gone, had not Bold made her understand that it was necessary for him
to explain to her how far it was in his power to put