“I think it’s rather hard upon her too,” pleaded his mother.  “She’s very fond of him; and it would have been such a good match for her.”

“Pooh! she’s not nineteen yet, and has plenty of time before her to pick up somebody else; while, don’t you see, if I’m caught and transported, I’m done for life.  Besides I’ve a notion Frank had already begun to be tired of the affair; it would have been broken off in a month or two, without her gaining anything by it.”

“Well, if you think so,” replied Mrs. Browne.  “But I’m sorry for her.  I always told her she was foolish to think so much about him:  but I know she’ll fret a deal if it’s given up.”

“Oh! she’ll soon comfort herself with thinking that she has saved me.  I wish she’d come.  It must be near eleven.  I do wish she would come.  Hark! is not that the kitchen-door?” said he, turning white, and betaking himself once more to the china-closet.  He held it ajar till he heard Maggie stepping softly and slowly across the floor.  She opened the parlor-door; and stood looking in, with the strange imperceptive gaze of a sleep-walker.  Then she roused herself and saw that he was not there; so she came in a step or two, and sat down in her dripping cloak on a chair near the door.

Edward returned, bold now there was no danger.

“Maggie!” said he, “what have you fixed to say to Mr. Burton?”

She sighed deeply; and then lifted up her large innocent eyes to his face.

“I cannot give up Frank,” said she, in a low, quiet voice.

Mrs. Browne threw up her hands and exclaimed in terror: 

“Oh Edward, Edward! go away—­I will give you all the plate I have; you can sell it—­my darling, go!”

“Not till I have brought Maggie to reason,” said he, in a manner as quiet as her own, but with a subdued ferocity in it, which she saw, but which did not intimidate her.

He went up to her, and spoke below his breath.

“Maggie, we were children together—­we two—­brother and sister of one blood!  Do you give me up to be put in prison—­in the hulks—­among the basest of criminals—­I don’t know where—­all for the sake of your own selfish happiness?”

She trembled very much; but did not speak or cry, or make any noise.

“You were always selfish.  You always thought of yourself.  But this time I did think you would have shown how different you could be.  But it’s self—­self—­paramount above all.”

“Oh Maggie! how can you be so hard-hearted and selfish?” echoed Mrs. Browne, crying and sobbing.

“Mother!” said Maggie, “I know that I think too often and too much of myself.  But this time I thought only of Frank.  He loves me; it would break his heart if I wrote as Mr. Buxton wishes, cutting our lives asunder, and giving no reason for it.”

“He loves you so!” said Edward, tauntingly.  “A man’s love break his heart!  You’ve got some pretty notions!  Who told you that he loved you so desperately?  How do you know it?”