.

"Well, Tom," said Bramble, "you've been at me about this before, and I
believe it's a proper feeling, after all, it certainly does seem to me
to be a matter of little consequence, as things stand; however, I can't
consent to your leaving us. You have been with me ever since you were a
lad, and I should feel like a fish out of water if I were to be without
you or Bessy; so pay just what you please--I'll take it since you wish
it--and there's an end of the matter."

This was not the end to which I was driving; but Bramble's eyes would
not be opened, and I could not help it. He had never directly spoken to
me about an union with Bessy, and therefore it was impossible for me to
say any more. Bramble, however, did not fail to communicate what I had
said to her; and one evening when we were standing on the shingle beach,
she said to me, "So Emerson has been convicted for smuggling, and
sentenced beyond the seas."

"I am sorry for it," replied I.

"His house is to be let now, Tom; would it not suit you? for my father
told me that you wished to leave us."

"Why should I live upon you when I am able to support myself?"

"Certainly not. If it were not that I could not bear to see father
miserable, I think it would be better if you did take Emerson's house;
but it would vex him, poor good man."

"But not you, Bessy; is it that you mean?"

"Perhaps it is. Tell me yourself, Tom, would it not be better?"

I made no reply.

"Well," replied Bessy, "think of me as you please; I will speak now,
Tom. I am not considering you, Tom, nor am I thinking of myself; I am
only induced so to do on account of my father. We have been brought up
together as children, Tom, and, as children, we were great friends, and,
I believe, sincerely attached to each other. I believe it to be very
true that those who are brought up together as brothers and sisters do
not change that affection for any other more serious in after life. It
is therefore not our faults if we cannot feel as, you must know, Tom, my
father wishes we should. Am I not right?"

"You are, I believe, Bessy," replied I.

"My father, therefore, is deceiving himself with the hopes of what never
can take place, but I know him even better than you do, Tom; it is the
object of his daily thoughts--his only wish before he sinks into his
grave. I cannot bear to undeceive him; no more can you, if I have truly
judged your feelings."

"You have judged right, Bessy."

"The