THE SMUGGLER. 273 



tenderly enough; for, in truth, he loved her very dearly: and 

 then he led her back to the sofa, and seated himself beside her. 

 "How low these abominable contrivances are," he said; U I 

 do wish that Zachary would have some sofas that people can 

 sit upon with comfort, instead of these beastly things, only lit 

 for a Turkish harem, or a dog-kennel." 



Edith made no reply : for she waited in dread of what was 

 to follow, and could not speak of trifles. But her father pre- 

 sently went on, saying: " So, my brother is out, and not 

 likely to return for an hour or two I Well, I am glad of it, 

 Edith, for I came over to speak with you on matters of much 

 moment." 



Still Edith was silent; for she durst not trust her voice with 

 any reply, She feared that her courage would give way at 

 the first words, and that she should burst into tears, when she 

 felt sure that all the resolution she could command would be 

 required to bear her safely through. She trusted, indeed, that, 

 as she had often found before, her spirit would rise with the 

 occasion, and that she should find powers of resistance within 

 her in the time of need, though she shrunk from the contem- 

 plation of what was to come. 



" I have delayed long, Edith," continued Sir Robert Croy- 

 land, after a pause, " to press you upon a subject in regard to 

 which it is now absolutely necessary you should come to a 

 decision; too long, indeed; but I have been actuated by a 

 regard for your feelings, and you owe me something for my 

 forbearance. There can now, however, be no further delay. 

 You will easily understand that I mean your marriage with 

 Richard Iladford." 



Edith raised her eyes to her father's face, and, after a strong 

 effort, replied, " My decision, my dear father, has, as you know, 

 been long made. I cannot, and I will not, marry him; nothing 

 on earth shall ever induce me!" 



" Do not say that, Edith," answered Sir Robert Croyland, 

 with a bitter smile; " for I could utter words, which, if I know 

 you rightly, would make you glad and eager to give him your 

 hand, even though you broke your heart in so doing. But 

 before I speak those things which will plant a wound in your 

 i for life, that nothing can heal or assuage, I will try 

 every other means. I request you, I entreat you, I command 

 you, to marry him! l>y every duty that you owe me, by all 



