'Do you know, Miss Ward, I came down here with the purpose of setting some matters before your brother that might dissuade him from making the United States his home. You have justly more influence than I. Will you object to hear them from me?' Ave could not imagine why Tom May, of all people in the world, should thrust himself into the discussion of her plans; but she could only submit to listen, or more truly to lean back with wandering thoughts and mechanical signs of assent, as he urged his numerous objections. Finally, she uttered a meek 'Thank you,' in the trust that it was over. 'And will you try to make your brother consider these things?' Poor Ave could not have stood an examination on 'these things,' and feeling inadequate to undertake the subject, merely said something of 'very kind, but she feared it would be of no use.' 'I assure you, if you would persuade him to talk it over with me, that I could show him that he would involve you all in what would be most distasteful.' 'Thank you, but his mind is made up. No other course is open.' 'Could he not, at least, go and see what he thinks of it, before taking you and your sisters?' 'Impossible!' said Averil. 'We must all keep together; we have no one else.' 'No, indeed, you must not say that,' cried Tom, with a fire that startled Averil in the midst of her languid, dreary indifference. 'I did not mean,' she said, 'to be ungrateful for the kindness of your family--the Doctor and dear Mary, above all; but you must know-' 'I know,' he interrupted, 'that I cannot see you exiling yourself with your brother, because you think you have no one else to turn to--you, who are so infinitely dear--' 'This is no time for satire,' she said, drawing aside with offence, but still wearily, and as if she had not given attention enough to understand him. 'You mistake me,' he exclaimed; 'I mean that no words can tell how strong the feeling is that--that--No, I never knew its force till now; but, Averil, I cannot part with you--you who are all the world to me.' Lifting her heavy eyelids for a moment, she looked bewildered, and then, moving towards the door, said, 'I don't know whether this is jest or earnest--any way, it is equally unsuitable.' 'What do you see in me,' cried Tom, throwing himself before her, 'that you should suppose me capable of jesting on such a subject, at such a moment?' 'I never saw anything but supercilious irony,' she answered, in the same dreamy, indifferent way, as if hardly aware what she was saying, and still moving on. 'I cannot let you go thus. You must hear me,' he cried, and he wheeled round an easy-chair, with a gesture of entreaty; which she obeyed, partly because she was hardly alive to understand his drift, partly because she could scarcely stand; and there she sat, in the same drowsy resignation with which she had listened to his former expostulation.