Plot ana Counterplot. 127

 

who did not care to turn her heavily-laden head to
look at me.

My father was up, and busy in the stable. I can-
not go there to tell him, thought I; I must wait
a little. So I went into the house to prepare
breakfast; but I soon found that my courage
was oozing away so uncommonly fast, that if I
did not tell him at once, I could never do it. I
gathered myself up with both hands, as it were,
and rushed out.

“Father, I heard what you were talking about
on Wednesday night. And I have told no names,
and left no clue, but I have warned Mr. Prickard ;
and now, don’t you go there to do anything, for he
will be on the look-out.”

“What!” cried my father, and stood staring at
me. At last he said, “ You have told on us, you
young scoundrel !”

“No, father,” said I. “ Nobody knows who wrote
the letter, and nobody saw me deliver it. They
cannot trace you.”

“Can’t they, though! And that you should be-
tray me. I thought you were like your mother ;
but when I had to leave England that time, she
would rather have died than betray me.”

“So would I!” I cried. “It is because I love
you—because I cannot bear that you should do any-