John Bold was very sorry, so sorry: he hoped it was nothing

serious, and put on the unmeaningly solemn face which people
usually use on such occasions.

'I especially want to speak to you about my father, Mr Bold;
indeed, I am now here on purpose to do so. Papa is very unhappy,

very unhappy indeed, about this affair of the hospital:
you would pity him, Mr Bold, if you could see how wretched

it has made him.'
'Oh, Miss Harding!'

'Indeed you would--anyone would pity him; but a friend,
an old friend as you are--indeed you would. He is an altered

man; his cheerfulness has all gone, and his sweet temper, and
his kind happy tone of voice; you would hardly know him if

you saw him, Mr Bold, he is so much altered; and--and--if
this goes on, he will die.' Here Eleanor had recourse to her

handkerchief, and so also had her auditors; but she plucked
up her courage, and went on with her tale. 'He will break his

heart, and die. I am sure, Mr Bold, it was not you who wrote
those cruel things in the newspaper--'

John Bold eagerly protested that it was not, but his heart
smote him as to his intimatealliance with Tom Towers.

'No, I am sure it was not; and papa has not for a moment
thought so; you would not be so cruel--but it has nearly

killed him. Papa cannot bear to think that people should so
speak of him, and that everybody should hear him so spoken

of:--they have called him avaricious, and dishonest, and they
say he is robbing the old men, and taking the money of the

hospital for nothing.'
'I have never said so, Miss Harding. I--'

'No,' continued Eleanor, interrupting him, for she was now
in the full flood-tide of her eloquence; 'no, I am sure you have

not; but others have said so; and if this goes on, if such things
are written again, it will kill papa. Oh! Mr Bold, if you only

knew the state he is in! Now papa does not care much about money.'
Both her auditors, brother and sister, assented to this, and

declared on their own knowledge that no man lived less
addicted to filthy lucre than the warden.

'Oh! it's so kind of you to say so, Mary, and of you too,
Mr Bold. I couldn't bear that people should think unjustly

of papa. Do you know he would give up the hospital altogether,
only he cannot. The archdeacon says it would be cowardly,

and that he would be deserting his order, and injuring the
church. Whatever may happen, papa will not do that: he would

leave the place tomorrow willingly, and give up his house, and
the income and all if the archdeacon--'

Eleanor was going to say 'would let him,' but she stopped herself
before she had compromised her father's dignity; and giving

a long sigh, she added--'Oh, I do so wish he would.'
'No one who knows Mr Harding personally accuses him for

a moment,' said Bold.
'It is he that has to bear the punishment; it is he that

suffers,' said Eleanor; 'and what for? what has he done
wrong? how has he deserved this persecution? he that never

had an unkind thought in his life, he that never said an unkind
word!' and here she broke down, and the violence of her sobs

stopped her utterance.
Bold, for the fifth or sixth time, declared that neither he nor

any of his friends imputed any blame personally to Mr Harding.
'Then why should he be persecuted?' ejaculated Eleanor

through her tears, forgetting in her eagerness that her intention
had been to humble herself as a suppliant before John Bold--

'why should he be singled out for scorn and disgrace? why
should he be made so wretched? Oh! Mr Bold'--and she turned

towards him as though the kneeling scene were about to be
commenced--'oh! Mr Bold, why did you begin all this? You, whom

we all so--so--valued!'
To speak the truth, the reformer's punishment was certainly

come upon him, for his presentplight was not enviable; he
had nothing for it but to excuse himself by platitudes about

public duty, which it is by no means worth while to repeat, and
to reiterate his eulogy on Mr Harding's character. His position

was certainly a cruel one: had any gentleman called upon
him on behalf of Mr Harding he could of course have declined

to enter upon the subject; but how could he do so with a
beautiful girl, with the daughter of the man whom he had

injured, with his own love?
In the meantime Eleanor recollected herself, and again

summoned up her energies. 'Mr Bold,' said she, 'I have
come here to implore you to abandon this proceeding.' He

stood up from his seat, and looked beyond measure distressed.
'To implore you to abandon it, to implore you to spare my

father, to spare either his life or his reason, for one or the other
will pay the forfeit if this goes on. I know how much I am

asking, and how little right I have to ask anything; but I think
you will listen to me as it is for my father. Oh, Mr Bold, pray,

pray do this for us--pray do not drive to distraction a man who
has loved you so well.'

She did not absolutely kneel to him, but she followed him as
he moved from his chair, and laid her soft hands imploringly

upon his arm. Ah! at any other time how exquisitely valuable
would have been that touch! but now he was distraught,

dumbfounded and unmanned. What could he say to that
sweet suppliant; how explain to her that the matter now was

probably beyond his control; how tell her that he could not
quell the storm which he had raised?

'Surely, surely, John, you cannot refuse her,' said his sister.
'I would give her my soul,' said he, 'if it would serve her.'

'Oh, Mr Bold,' said Eleanor, 'do not speak so; I ask
nothing for myself; and what I ask for my father, it cannot

harm you to grant.'
'I would give her my soul, if it would serve her,' said Bold,

still addressing his sister; 'everything I have is hers, if she will
accept it; my house, my heart, my all; every hope of my

breast is centred in her; her smiles are sweeter to me than the
sun, and when I see her in sorrow as she now is, every nerve

in my body suffers. No man can love better than I love her.'
'No, no, no,' ejaculated Eleanor; 'there can be no talk of

love between us. Will you protect my father from the evil you
have brought upon him?'

'Oh, Eleanor, I will do anything; let me tell you how I
love you!'

'No, no, no!' she almost screamed. 'This is unmanly of
you, Mr Bold. Will you, will you, will you leave my father to

die in peace in his quiet home?' and seizing him by his arm
and hand, she followed him across the room towards the door.

'I will not leave you till you promise me; I'll cling to you in
the street; I'll kneel to you before all the people. You shall

promise me this, you shall promise me this, you shall--' And
she clung to him with fixed tenacity, and reiterated her resolve

with hysterical passion.
'Speak to her, John; answer her,' said Mary, bewildered

by the unexpectedvehemence of Eleanor's manner; 'you
cannot have the cruelty to refuse her.'

'Promise me, promise me,' said Eleanor; 'say that my