I was greatly chagrined to think my kind intentions towards Martha should be thwarted by her folly. I was even angry. Perhaps it was unmanly in me to be so. My sister was unfortunate. No doubt she had been deluded; and could not help her misfortune. She was more an object for pity than anger; but I was angry, and could not restrain myself from showing it. Conscious of my upright and disinterested regard for her, I could not help thinking it ungrateful of her, thus to oppose my designs for her welfare. "Martha," said I, "I ask you once more to go with me. By doing so, you will fulfil a sister's duty as well as seek your own welfare. Reject my offer now, and it will never be made again: for we shall part for ever, I will leave you to the misery, you seem not only to desire, but deserve." "Rowland! Rowland!" exclaimed she, throwing her arms around my neck, "I cannot part from you thus. Do not leave me. You must not--you must not!" "Will you go with me?" I asked, too much excited to listen patiently to her entreaties. "Rowland, do not ask me! May heaven help me; I cannot go!" "Then, farewell!" I cried, "farewell for ever!" and as I uttered the parting speech, I tore myself from her embrace, and hurried half frantic out of the room. Volume Three, Chapter XXI. MY SISTER'S SWEETHEART. On leaving the house, my soul was stirred by conflicting emotions. I was wild with disappointment, sorrow and indignation. It was wrong to part with my poor sister in such fashion; and my conscience told me so, before I had proceeded two hundred yards along the street. I should at least have given her some money, to relieve her from the extreme necessity which she was evidently in. A moment's reflection, as I stopped in the street, told me it was my duty to do this, if nothing more. I thought of sending her a few pounds after getting back to the hotel. Then succeeded the reflection, that to do so would be more trouble, than to turn back, and give it to her myself. This thought decided me to return to the house, and see her once more. I retraced my steps; and again knocked at the door. For some moments there was no answer; and I knocked again. I waited for nearly two minutes; and still there was no sign of my summons being answered. I was on the point of bursting in the door, when it was opened by a man, whose huge frame almost filled the entrance from jamb to jamb. It was the Elephant! The truth instantly flashed upon my mind. It was for _him_ my sister had been waiting! She--was the sempstress for whom he had been toiling--the young girl spoken of in his story--she, whom he had said, he was going to return and marry! Martha had flung herself into a chair; and appeared insensible.