"Joel, my poor, dear
friend," she said, "I am sorry that the last, worst mischief we
have done must fall upon you."
Joel covered his face with his hands, and convulsively uttered the
words, "MUST she go?"
Then Henry Donnelly--or, rather, Lord Dunleigh, as we must now call
him--took the young man's hand. He was profoundly moved; his
strong voice trembled, and his words came slowly. "I will not
appeal to thy heart, Joel," he said, "for it would not hear me now.
But thou hast heard all our story, and knowest that we must leave
these parts, never to return. We belong to another station and
another mode of life than yours, and it must come to us as a good
fortune that our time of probation is at an end. Bethink thee,
could we leave our darling Alice behind us, parted as if by the
grave? Nay, could we rob her of the life to which she is born--of
her share in our lives? On the other hand, could we take thee with
us into relations where thee would always be a stranger, and in
which a nature like thine has no place? This is a case where duty
speaks clearly, though so hard, so very hard, to follow.
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