Tell me nothing, said your father, quite enraged, or that very vile fellow!  I have a rivetted hatred to him.  I would rather see the rebel die an hundred deaths, were it possible, than that she should give such a villain as him a relation to my family.

Well, but there is no room to think, said you mother, that she will give us such a relation, my dear.  The poor girl will lessen, I fear, the number of our relations not increase it.  If she be so ill as we are told she is, let us send Mrs. Norton up to her.—­That’s the least we can do—­ let us take her, however, out of the hands of that Belford.

Both your uncles supported this motion; the latter part of it especially.

Your brother observed, in his ill-natured way, what a fine piece of consistency it was in you to refuse the vile injurer, and the amends he offered; yet to throw yourself upon the protection of his fast friend.

Miss Harlowe was apprehensive, she said, that you would leave all you could leave to that pert creature, Miss Howe, [so she called her,] if you should die.

O do not, do not suppose that, my Bella, said your poor mother.  I cannot think of parting with my Clary—­with all her faults, she is my child—­her reasons for her conduct are not heard—­it would break my heart to lose her.—­I think, my dear, to your father, none so fit as I to go up, if you will give me leave, and Mrs. Norton shall accompany me.

This was a sweet motion, and your father paused upon it.  Mr. Morden offered his service to escort her; your uncles seemed to approve of it; but your brother dashed all.  I hope, Sir, said he, to his father—­I hope, Madam, to his mother—­that you will not endeavour to recover a faulty daughter by losing an unculpable son.  I do declare, that if ever my sister Clary darkens these doors again, I never will.  I will set out, Madam, the same hour you go to London, (on such an errand,) to Edinburgh; and there I will reside, and try to forget that I have relations in England, so near and so dear as you are now all to me.

Good God, said the Colonel, what a declaration is this!  And suppose, Sir, and suppose, Madam, [turning to your father and mother,] this should be the case, whether it is better, think you, that you should lose for ever such a daughter as my cousin Clary, or that your son should go to Edinburgh, and reside there upon an estate which will be the better for his residence upon it?—­

Your brother’s passionate behaviour hereupon is hardly to be described.  He resented it as promising an alienation of the affection of the family to him.  And to such an height were resentments carried, every one siding with him, that the Colonel, with hands and eyes lifted up, cried out, What hearts of flint am I related to!—­O, Cousin Harlowe, to your father, are you resolved to have but one daughter?—­Are you, Madam, to be taught, by a son, who has no bowels, to forget you are a mother?