"Simple girl, simple girl!" said her brother. "He speak of the duties we owe to each other! He speak of the rules which ought to regulate our conduct!" he added, with a bitter sneer. "Well, perhaps it is all right, Fanny," he went on; "I may have judged harshly of Raeburn, and may be doing him an injustice; but, if I am, I never was more mistaken in a man in my life. But, Fanny," he added, with a sudden energy of manner, "here I swear--and I wish Raeburn heard the oath--that, if he deceive or injure you, I will pursue him to the ends of the earth--ay, through the snows of Greenland, or the burning deserts of the tropics--and seek a reparation that will cost the lives of one or both of us." "Mercy, mercy!" exclaimed the weeping girl, terrified at the fierce looks and manner of her brother, yet at the same time throwing herself into his arms. "What dreadful language is this, Edward? What grounds on earth have you for anticipating so dreadful a catastrophe? I am sure you have seen nothing to warrant your expressing yourself in this frightful manner." "I have not said that I anticipated anything, Fanny, regarding this attachment of yours," replied her brother. "I spoke only hypothetically. But, from this hour, I say no more on the subject. I trust, however, that what I have said will not be without its effect upon you, Fanny. You will perceive, my dear sister," he added, embracing her tenderly, "that it is my affection, and, I will add, my fears, for you, that have prompted all I have said." "I know it, Edward--I know it," replied Fanny; "and I am grateful to you. But you will soon learn to like Henry better than you now do." "Woman, woman--still woman to the last," said her brother, smiling. "But do, Fanny, permit what I have said to make some impression on you." And Edward left the apartment. Woman, woman still, as her brother had said, the warmhearted girl's affections for Raeburn suffered no diminution whatever from what had just passed between her and her brother. In truth, as such interferences almost always do, it had the effect rather of increasing her love, by placing the object of her affections--in her sight, at any rate--in the light of one who is injured by being harshly judged of. "My Henry deceive me!" she thought within herself on this occasion--"impossible! impossible! That kind and gentle look!--can that deceive? That benignant smile!--can there be treachery there? That frank and open manner!--is that assumed? No, no, Edward--you wrong Henry; you do indeed, Edward. You wrong him grievously." Such were the reflections in which Fanny Rutherford indulged when her brother had left her, and such was the effect which his fears and suspicions had upon her unsuspecting and confiding heart.