The price of a
pretty slave is no object with this boasting democrat,--the
gratification of his carnal desires soars supreme. Rosebrook knows
this, as the abject woman does to her sorrow.
As Rosebrook and the stranger sit conversing upon the object of his
mission, and the best way to effect it, this good woman returns
leading by the arm a delicately-formed girl, whose blonde
countenance is shadowed with an air of melancholy which rather adds
to her charms than detracts from her beauty. The stranger's eye
rests upon her,--quickly he recognises Clotilda's features,
Clotilda's form, and gentleness; but she is fairer than Clotilda,
has blue eyes, and almost golden hair. She hesitates as her eyes
meet the stranger's. "Do not fear, my child," speaks Franconia,
whose slender figure follows her into the room. Assured that the
stranger is her friend, she is introduced to him, and modestly takes
her seat on a chair by the window. The stranger's name is Maxwell,
and on hearing it announced Franconia anticipated the pleasure of
meeting with her old friend, through whose agency she effected
Clotilda's escape. Advancing towards him with extended hand, she
looks enquiringly in his face, saying, "Am I mistaken?" She shakes
her head, doubtingly. "No! it is not my friend Maxwell," she
continues.
"No!" rejoins the stranger; "he is my cousin: by his directions I
have come here. I have brought a letter from his wife Clotilda,
whose dear deliverer you were; and whose thoughts now daily recur to
you, to your love and kindness to her, with undying brightness.
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