Emmeline's lips moved.

"Arthur, dear Arthur," she murmured, a faint flush rising to her cheek, and the smile heightened in its brilliancy; a few minutes, and her eyes unclosed; a shade of disappointment passed over her features, a faint sigh struggled to escape, but it was checked, for she met her mother's fond glance, and smiled.
"Why are you not gone out, dearest mother, this lovely evening?
why stay with such a dull companion as I am?
Percy and Edward could offer so many more attractions, and I am sure it is not with their good-will you are here." "Would my Emmeline refuse me the sweet pleasure of watching her, tending her?
believe me, dearest, without you at my side, the park and this lovely evening would lose half their attractions." "Do not say so, my own mother.

I am not ill, only lazy, and that you were not wont to encourage; my eyes would close, spite of all my efforts.

But why should you have the uninteresting task of watching my slumbers ?" "Because, dearest, I will not abandon my office, till it is claimed as the right of another.

It will soon be, my Emmeline; but do not send me from your side, till then." "The right of another, dearest mother?
whose right will it ever be but yours?
who can ever be to me the tender nurse that you have been ?" "One who will vow to love, protect, and cherish you; one who loves you, my own Emmeline, and longs to claim you as his own, and restore, by his affection, the health and spirits you have lost; one who has the consent and blessing of your father and myself, and waits but for yours." Emmeline started from her recumbent posture.
"Oh, send me not from you, mother, my own mother! Do not, oh, do not compel me to marry!" she exclaimed, in a tone of agony.