The next morning the whole family attended meeting at the neighboring Quaker meeting-house, in the preparation for which, and the various special occupations of their “First-day” mornings, the unsuspecting parents overlooked that inevitable change in the faces of the lovers which they must otherwise have observed. After dinner, as Eli was taking a quiet walk in the garden, Richard Hilton approached him. “Friend Mitchenor,” said he, “I should like to have some talk with thee.” “What is it, Richard?” asked the old man, breaking off some pods from a seedling radish, and rubbing them in the palm of his hand. “I hope, Friend Mitchenor,” said the young man, scarcely knowing how to approach so important a crisis in his life, “I hope thee has been satisfied with my conduct since I came to live with thee, and has no fault to find with me as a man.” “Well,” exclaimed Eli, turning around and looking up, sharply, “does thee want a testimony from me? I've nothing, that I know of, to say against thee.” “If I were sincerely attached to thy daughter, Friend Mitchenor, and she returned the attachment, could thee trust her happiness in my hands?” “What!” cried Eli, straightening himself and glaring upon the speaker, with a face too amazed to express any other feeling. “Can you confide Asenath's happiness to my care? I love her with my whole heart and soul, and the fortune of my life depends on your answer.” The straight lines in the old man's face seemed to grow deeper and more rigid, and his eyes shone with the chill glitter of steel. Richard, not daring to say a word more, awaited his reply in intense agitation. “So!” he exclaimed at last, “this is the way thee's repaid me! I didn't expect THIS from thee! Has thee spoken to her?” “I have.” “Thee has, has thee? And I suppose thee's persuaded her to think as thee does. Thee'd better never have come here. When I want to lose my daughter, and can't find anybody else for her, I'll let thee know.” “What have you against me, Friend Mitchenor?” Richard sadly asked, forgetting, in his excitement, the Quaker speech he had learned. “Thee needn't use compliments now! Asenath shall be a Friend while _I_ live; thy fine clothes and merry-makings and vanities are not for her. Thee belongs to the world, and thee may choose one of the world's women.” “Never!” protested Richard; but Friend Mitchenor was already ascending the garden-steps on his way to the house. The young man, utterly overwhelmed, wandered to the nearest grove and threw himself on the ground. Thus, in a miserable chaos of emotion, unable to grasp any fixed thought, the hours passed away. Towards evening, he heard a footstep approaching, and sprang up. It was Moses. The latter was engaged, with the consent of his parents and expected to “pass meeting” in a few weeks. He knew what had happened, and felt a sincere sympathy for Richard, for whom he had a cordial regard. His face was very grave, but kind.