“Where, Mr. Forsyth,” she said, gazing at him as though she could penetrate the veil, and read his inmost heart; “where did that young man go, that you were speaking to me of just now; the one,” she added, with hasty irritation, as she marked his astonished and deprecating gesture--“the one you thought resembled me; to what place or country did he flee? Answer me.” “Mary, dear Mary!” pleaded Forsyth, “why ask me such a question now? why terrify me with such looks. That superstitious fellow can be nothing to you; and you, dear Mary, are all in all to me.” Mary’s voice is still trembling, notwithstanding her firmness, and the very force of her agitation has made it clear. “Where did he go to?” she repeats once more. “I do not know; I believe to America, the universal refuge,” answered Forsyth, half angrily. “But why do you torment me thus, and answer my entreaties by such questions? What has this to do with my suit? Will you not listen to me, Mary?” As he spoke, she rose with sudden dignity, and repelled the proud man who subdued and supplicating half knelt before her. “Much, Sir,” she said, with emphasis; “it has much to do with what you have said to me. I, to whom you address your love--I, who have been deceived into esteeming you so long--I, am the sister of Halbert Melville; of the man whom your seductions destroyed!” It is too much, this struggle, the natural feeling will not be restrained, and Mary Melville hides her face in her hands, and tries to keep in the burning tears. Forsyth has been standing stunned, as though a thunderbolt had broken upon his head, but now he starts forward again. She is melting, he thinks, and again he takes her hand in his own. It is forced out of his hold almost fiercely, and Mary, again elevated in transitory strength, bids him begone; she will not look upon the destroyer of her brother with a favourable eye, nor listen to a word from his lips. A moment after, the passengers in the street are turning round in astonishment, to look at that face so livid with rage and disappointment which speeds past them like a flash of lightning, and Mrs. James Melville was called up to administer restoratives to her fainting sister--sweet gentle Mary. [Illustration: text decoration] [Illustration: text decoration] CHAPTER III. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand; My bosom’s lord sits lightly in his throne; And, all this day, an unaccustom’d spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. _Romeo and Juliet._