"I am at the mansion-how pleasant; let me rest, uncle; let me rest.
Send aunt Rachel to me." She raises her right hand and lays her arms
about Marston's neck, as anxiously he leans over her. How dear are
the associations of that old mansion! how sweet the thought of home!
how uppermost in her wandering mind the remembrance of those happy
days!
CHAPTER XXXII.
MARSTON IN PRISON.
WHILE Franconia revives, let us beg the reader's indulgence for not
recounting the details thereof. The night continues dark and stormy,
but she must return to her own home,--she must soothe the excited
feelings of a dissolute and disregarding husband, who, no doubt, is
enjoying his night orgies, while she is administering consolation to
the downcast. "Ah! uncle," she says, about to take leave of him for
the night, "how with spirit the force of hope fortifies us; and yet
how seldom are our expectations realised through what we look
forward to! You now see the value of virtue; but when seen through
necessity, how vain the repentance. Nevertheless, let us profit by
the lesson before us; let us hope the issue may yet be favourable!"
Bob will see his young missus safe home-he will be her guide and
protector. So, preparing his cap, he buttons his jacket, laughs and
grins with joy, goes to the door, then to the fire-place, and to the
door again, where, keeping his left hand on the latch, and his right
holding the casement, he bows and scrapes, for "Missus comin.
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