“I am here,” at length he said, boldly, “for the purpose of taking you to New York.  Will you go with me?”

“For what end?” she whispered.

“To become my wife.”

There was no starting, shrinking, nor trembling at this proposal.  Caroline was prepared for it; and, in the blindness of a mistaken love, ready to do as the tempter wished.  Poor lamb!  She was to be led to the slaughter, decked with ribbons and garlands, a victim by her own consent.

Frederick Williams, the friend of Lawson, was a young attorney, who had fallen into rather wild company, and strayed to some distance along the paths of dissipation.  But, he had a young and lovely-minded sister, who possessed much influence over him.  The very sphere of her purity kept him from debasing himself to any great extent, and ever drew him back from a total abandonment of himself in the hour of temptation.  He had been thrown a good deal into the society of Lawson, who had many attractive points for young men about him, and who knew how to adapt himself to the characters of those with whom he associated.  In some things he did not like Lawson, who, at times, manifested such an entire want of principle, that he felt shocked.  On parting with Lawson at the boat, as we have seen, he walked thoughtfully away.  His mind was far from approving what he had heard, and the more he reflected upon it, the less satisfied did he feel.  He knew enough of the character of Lawson to be well satisfied that his marriage with Caroline, who was an overgrown, weak-minded school girl, would prove the wreck of her future happiness, and the thought of becoming a party to such a transaction troubled him.  On returning to his office, he found his sister waiting for him, and, as his eyes rested upon her innocent young countenance, the idea of her being made the victim of so base a marriage, flashed with a pang amid his thoughts.

“I will have no part nor lot in this matter,” he said, mentally.  And he was in earnest in this resolution.  But not long did his mind rest easy under his assumed passive relation to a contemplated social wrong, that one word from him might prevent.  From the thought of betraying Lawson’s confidence, his mind shrunk with a certain instinct of honor; while, at the same time, pressed upon him the irresistible conviction that a deeper dishonor would attach to him if he permitted the marriage to take place.

The day passed with him uncomfortably enough.  The more he thought about the matter, the more he felt troubled.  In the evening, he met his sister again, and the sight of her made him more deeply conscious of the responsibility resting upon him.  His oft repeated mental excuse—­“It’s none of my business,” or, “I can’t meddle in other men’s affairs,” did not satisfy certain convictions of right and duty that presented themselves with, to him, a strange distinctness.  The thought of his own sister was instantly associated with the scheme of some false-hearted wretch, involving her happiness in the way that the happiness of Caroline Everett was to be involved; and he felt that the man who knew that another was plotting against her, and did not apprize him of the fact, was little less than a villain at heart.