“I want no advice--I will take none from you, sir.” “You shall have none, madam, henceforward, from Harry Ormond.” “‘Tis well, sir. Come away, Sheelah.” “Oh! wait, dear--Och! I am too old,” said Sheelah, groaning as she rose slowly. “I’m too slow entirely for these quick passions.” “Passions!” cried Dora, growing scarlet and pale in an instant: “what do you mean by passions, Sheelah?” “I mean _changes_,” said Sheelah, “changes, dear. I am ready now--where’s my stick? Thank you, Master Harry. Only I say I can’t change my quarters and march so quick as you, dear.” “Well, well, lean on me,” said Dora impatiently. “Don’t hurry, poor Sheelah--no necessity to hurry away from me,” said Ormond, who had stood for a few moments like one transfixed. “‘Tis for me to go--and I will go as fast and as far as you please, Dora, away from you and for ever.” “For ever!” said Dora: “what do you mean?” “Away from the Black Islands? he can’t mean that,” said Sheelah. “Why not?--Did not I leave Castle Hermitage at a moment’s warning?” “_Warning!_ Nonsense!” cried Dora: “lean on him, Sheelah--he has frightened you; lean on him, can’t you?--sure he’s better than your stick. Warning!--where did you find that pretty word? Is Harry Ormond then turned footman?” “Harry Ormond!--and a minute ago she would not let me--Miss O’Shane, I shall not forget myself again--amuse yourself with being as capricious as you please, but not at my expense; little as you think of me, I am not to be made your butt or your dupe: therefore, I must seriously beg, at once, that I may know whether you wish me to stay or to go.” “To stay, to be sure, when my father invites you. Would you expose me to his displeasure? you know he can’t bear to be contradicted; and you know that he asked you to stay and live here.” “But without exposing you to any displeasure, I can,” replied Ormond, “contrive--” “Contrive nothing at all--do leave me to contrive for myself. I don’t mean to say _leave_ me--you take up one’s words so quickly, and are so passionate, Mr. Ormond.” “If you would have me understand you, Dora, explain how you wish me to live with you.” “Lord bless me! what a fuss the man makes about living with one--one would think it was the most difficult thing in the world. Can’t you live on like any body else? There’s my aunt in the hedge-row walk, all alone--I must go and take care of her: I leave you to take care of Sheelah--you know you were always very good-natured when we were children.”