For my own part, I would rather be poor and
happy than rich with a base husband; I have lived in New England,
know how to appreciate its domestic happiness. It was there
Puritanism founded true American liberty.--Puritanism yet lives, and
may be driven to action; but we must resign ourselves to the will of
an all-wise Providence." Thus concluding, she makes another attempt
to withdraw.
"You must not leave me yet!" says Marston, grasping her hand firmly
in his. "Franke, I cannot part with you until I have disclosed what
I have been summoning resolution to suppress. I know your
attachment, Franconia; you have been more than dear to me. You have
known my feelings,--what they have already had to undergo." He
pauses.
"Speak it, uncle, speak it! Keep nothing from me, nor make secrets
in fear of my feelings. Speak out,--I may relieve you!" she
interrupts, nervously: and again encircling her arm round his neck,
waits his reply, in breathless suspense.
He falters for a moment, and then endeavours to regain his usual
coolness. "To-morrow, Franconia," he half mutters out, "to-morrow,
you may find me not so well situated," (here tears are seen
trickling down his cheeks) "and in a place where it will not become
your delicate nature to visit me."
"Nay, uncle!" she stops him there; "I will visit you wherever you
may be-in a castle or a prison."
The word prison has touched the tender chord upon which all his
troubles are strung. He sobs audibly; but they are only sobs of
regret, for which there is no recompense in this late hour.
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