"and shall deprive myself of the
pleasure of hearing him. Good evening, sir."

"Wouldn't he be a good subject for tar and feathers, Arthur? They'd stick,
like grim death to a dead nigger," said Abel.

"He is really such a fool," said Arthur, "that I have no patience with him;
but you take your usual nap, and I will read my letters."

CHAPTER VII.

We will go back to the last evening at Exeter, when we left Mr. Weston to
witness the result of Bacchus's attendance at the barbecue. There were
other hearts busy in the quiet night time. Alice, resisting the offers of
her maid to assist her in undressing, threw herself on a lounge by the open
window. The night air played with the curtains, and lifted the curls from
her brow. Her bloom, which of late had been changeful and delicate, had now
left her cheek, and languid and depressed she abandoned herself to thought.
So absorbed was she, that she was not aware any one had entered the room,
until her mother stood near, gently reproving her for thus exposing
herself to the night air. "Do get up and go to bed," she said. "Where is
Martha?"

"I did not want her," said Alice; "and am now going to bed myself. What has
brought you here?"

"Because I felt anxious about you," said Mrs. Weston, "and came, as I have
often before, to be assured that you were well and enjoying repose. I find
you still up; and now, my daughter, there is a question I have feared to
ask you, but can no longer delay it. By all the love that is between us, by
the tie that should bind an only child to a widowed mother, will you tell
me what are the thoughts that are oppressing you? I have been anxious for
your health, but is there not more cause to fear for your happiness?"

"I am well enough, dear mother," said Alice, with some irritation of
manner, "Do not concern yourself about me. If you will go to bed, I will
too."

"You cannot thus put me off," said Mrs. Weston. "Alice, I charge you, as in
the presence of God, to tell me truly: do you love Walter Lee?"

"It would be strange if I did not," said Alice, in a low voice. "Have we
not always been as brother and sister?"

"Not in that sense, Alice; do not thus evade me. Do you love him with an
affection which should belong to your cousin, to whom you are solemnly
engaged, who has been the companion of your childhood, and who is the son
of the best friend that God ever raised up to a widow and a fatherless
child?"

Alice turned her head away, an