Hartley as it is to me."
"It would have been," said Hartley, scarce knowing what he said--"it
must be a pleasure to me in every circumstance--But this extraordinary
meeting--But your father"--
Menie Gray's handkerchief was at her eyes.--"He is gone, Mr. Hartley.
After he was left unassisted, his toilsome business became too much for
him--he caught a cold which hung about him, as you know he was the last
to attend to his own complaints, till it assumed a dangerous, and,
finally, a fatal character. I distress you, Mr. Hartley, but it becomes
you well to be affected. My father loved you dearly."
"Oh, Miss Gray!" said Hartley, "it should not have been thus with my
excellent friend at the close of his useful and virtuous life--Alas,
wherefore--the question bursts from me involuntarily--wherefore could
you not have complied with his wishes?--wherefore"--
"Do not ask me," said she, stopping the question which was on his lips;
"we are not the formers of our own destiny. It is painful to talk on
such a subject; but for once, and for ever, let me tell you that I
should have done Mr. Hartley wrong, if, even to secure his assistance to
my father, I had accepted his hand, while my wayward affections did not
accompany the act."
"But wherefore do I see you here, Menie?--Forgive me, Miss Gray, my
tongue as well as my heart turns back to long-forgotten scenes--But why
here?--why with this woman?"
"She is not, indeed, every thing that I expected," answered Menie; "but
I must not be prejudiced by foreign manners, after the step I have
taken--She is, besides, attentive, and generous in her way, and I shall
soon"--she paused a moment, and then added, "be under better
protection.
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