oon; but, upon my honor, I dread what will happen when
he does. A scene there will be no doubt of it; however, we must only
struggle through it as well as we can. I'll go and see Helen, and try to
reconcile her to this chap, or, at all events, to let her know at once
that, be the consequences what they may, she must marry him, if I were
myself to hold her at the altar."

When he had concluded this soliloquy, Ellen Connor, without whose
society Helen could now scarcely live, and who, on this account, had not
been discharged after her elopement, she, we say, entered the room,
her eye resolute with determination, and sparkling with a feeling which
evinced an indignant sense of his cruelty in enforcing this odious
match. The old man looked at her with surprise, for, it was the first
time she had ever ventured to obtrude her conversation upon him,or to
speak, unless when spoken to.

"Well, madam," said he, "what do you want? Have you any message from
your mistress? if not, what brings you here?"

"I have no message from my mistress," she replied in a loud, if not in
a vehement, voice; "I don't think my mistress is capable of sending a
message; but I came to tell you that the God of heaven will soon send
you a message, and a black one too, if you allow this cursed marriage to
go on."

"Get out, you jade--leave the room; how is it your affair?"

"Because I have what you want--a heart of pity and affection in my
breast. Do you want to drive your daughter mad, or to take her life?"

"Begone, you impudent hussy; why do you dare to come here on such an
occasion, only to annoy me?"

"I will not begone," she replied, with a glowing cheek, "unless I am put
out by force--until I point out the consequences of your selfish tyranny
and weakness. I don't come to annoy you, but I come to warn you, and to
tell you, that I know your daughter better than you do yourself. This
marriage must not go on; or, if it does, send without delay to a lunatic
asylum for a keeper for that only daughter. I know her well, and I tell
you that that's what it'll come to."

The squire had never been in the habit of being thus addressed by any of
his servants; and the consequence was that the thing was new to him; so
much so that he felt not only annoyed, but so much astounded, that he
absolutely lost, for a brief period, the use of his speech. He looked at
her with astonishment--then about the room--then up at the ceiling, and
at length spoke:

"What