412 THE SMUGGLER* 



" That was like a friend, indeed!" murmured Edith; u but 

 such are the friendships of the world." 



" I am acting like a friend to you, Miss Croyland," rejoined 

 Mr. Radford, apparently neither touched nor hurt by her 

 words, " in letting you see clearly your father's situation, while 

 I give you the opportunity of saving him if you will. Do as 

 you please, there is the paper. Sign it if you like, but sign it 

 quickly; for this night brings all tergiversation to an end. I 

 will have no more of it ; and five minutes decides your father's 

 life or death. Do not say I do it. It is you. His pardon 

 is before you. You have nothing to do but to put your, name. 

 If you do not, you sign his death warrant!" 



"Five minutes!" said Edith, with her heart beating vio- 

 lently. 



" Ay, five minutes," answered Mr. Radford, who saw, from 

 the wild look of her beautiful eyes, and the ashy paleness of 

 her cheek and lips, how powerfully he had worked upon her; 

 "five minutes, no longer;" and he laid his watch upon the 

 table. Then, turning somewhat ostentatiously to a small fixed 

 writing-desk, which stood near, he took up a stick of sealing- 

 wax, and laid it down beside the letter he had written, as if 

 determined not to lose a moment beyond the period he had 

 named. 



Edith gazed upon the paper for an instant, agitated and 

 trembling through her whole frame; but her eye fell upon the 

 name of Richard Radford. His image rose up before her, re- 

 calling all the horror that she felt whenever he was in her 

 presence; then came the thought of Lay ton, and of her vows 

 to him yet uncancelled. " Richard Radford 1" she said to her- 

 self; " Richard Radford! marry him, vow that I will love him, 

 call God to witness, when I know I shall abhor him more and 

 more; when I love another? I cannot do it, I will not do it!" 

 and she pushed the paper from her, saying, aloud, " No, I will 

 not sign it!" 



" Very well," said Mr. Radford, " very well. Your parent's 

 blood be upon your head;" and he proceeded to fold up slowly 

 the deposition he had shown her in the letter he had written. 

 But he stopped in the midst; and then, abandoning the calm, 

 low tone, and stern, but quiet, demeanour he had lately used, 

 he started up, striking the table violently with his hand, and 

 exclaiming, in a loud and angry tone, " Wretched, miserable 



