eyes, he
still heard the tone of her voice, when she spoke of the young lady in
the park. The words of the good physician whom he had consulted about
her recurred to his memory now. "The natural growth of her senses
has been stunted, like the natural growth of her body, by starvation,
terror, exposure to cold, and other influences inherent in the life that
she has led." And then the doctor had spoken of nourishing food, pure
air, and careful treatment--of the life, in short, which she had led
at the cottage--and had predicted that she would develop into "an
intelligent and healthy young woman." Again he asked himself, "What
ought I to do?"

He turned aside to the window, and looked out. An idea occurred to him.
How would it be, if he summoned courage enough to tell her that he was
engaged to be married?

No! Setting aside his natural dread of the shock that he might inflict
on the poor grateful girl who had only known happiness under his care,
the detestable obstacle of Mr. Farnaby stood immovably in his way. Sally
would be sure to ask questions about his engagement, and would never
rest until they were answered. It had been necessarily impossible to
conceal her mother's name from her. The discovery of her father, if she
heard of Regina and Regina's uncle, would be simply a question of time.
What might such a man be not capable of doing, what new act of treachery
might he not commit, if he found himself claimed by the daughter whom he
had deserted? Even if the expression of Mrs. Farnaby's last wishes had
not been sacred to Amelius, this consideration alone would have kept him
silent, for Sally's sake.

He now doubted for the first time if he had calculated wisely in
planning to trust Sally's sad story, after his marriage, to the
sympathies of his wife. The jealousy that she might naturally feel of
a young girl, who was an object of interest to her husband, did not
present the worst difficulty to contend with. She believed in her
uncle's integrity as she believed in her religion. What would she say,
what would she do, if the innocent witness to Farnaby's infamy was
presented to her; if Amelius asked the protection for Sally which her
own father had refused to her in her infancy; and if he said, as he must
say, "Your uncle is the man"?

And yet, what prospect could he see but the prospect of making the
disclosure when he looked to his own interests next, and thought of his
wedding day? Again the sinister figure of Fa