Of a home and independence. (Aside.) Poor fellow! how
pale he looks! (Aloud.) Well, you see, I am more trustful than
you. I will tell you MY secret; and you shall aid me with your
counsel. (They sit on ledge of rocks.) Listen! My mother had a
cousin once,--a cousin cruel, cowardly, selfish, and dissolute.
She loved him, as women are apt to love such men,--loved him so
that she beguiled her own husband to trust his fortunes in the
hands of this wretched profligate. The husband was ruined,
disgraced. The wife sought her cousin for help for her necessities.
He met her with insult, and proposed that she should fly with him.
Sandy. One moment, miss: it wasn't his pardner--his pardner's
wife--eh?
Miss Mary (impatiently). It was the helpless wife of his own
blood, I tell you. The husband died broken-hearted. The wife, my
mother, struggled in poverty, under the shadow of a proud name, to
give me an education, and died while I was still a girl. To-day
this cousin,--this more than murderer of my parents,--old, rich,
self-satisfied, REFORMED, invites me, by virtue of that kinship he
violated and despised, to his home, his wealth, his--his family
roof-tree! The man you saw was his agent.
Sandy. And you--
Miss Mary. Refused.
Sandy (passing his hand over his forehead). You did wrong, Miss
Mary.
Miss Mary. Wrong, sir? (Rising.)
Sandy (humbly but firmly). Sit ye down, Miss Mary.
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