“Will nothing induce you to abandon this wicked purpose?”

“Nothing on earth, Paul!”

“Nothing?”

“No! so help me Heaven!  Give way—­let me go, Paul.”

“You must not go, Miriam.”

“I must and will—­and that directly.  Stand aside.”

“Then you shall not go.”

“Shall not?”

“I said ‘shall not.’”

“Who will prevent me?”

“I will!  You are a maniac, Miriam, and must be restrained from going abroad, and setting the county in a conflagration.”

“You will have to guard me very close for the whole of my life, then.”

At that moment the door was quietly opened, and Mr. Willcoxen entered.

Miriam’s countenance changed fearfully, but she wrung her hand from the clasp of Paul’s, and hastened toward the door.

Paul sprang forward and intercepted her.

“What does this mean?” asked Mr. Willcoxen, stepping up to them.

“It means that she is mad, and will do herself or somebody else much mischief,” cried Paul, sharply.

“For shame, Paul!  Release her instantly,” said Thurston, authoritatively.

“Would you release a lunatic, bent upon setting the house on fire?” expostulated the young man, still holding her.

“She is no lunatic; let her go instantly, sir.”

Paul, with a groan, complied.

Miriam hastened onward, cast one look of anguish back to Thurston’s face, rushed back, and threw herself upon her knees at his feet, clasped his hands, and cried: 

“I do not ask you to pardon me—­I dare not!  But God deliver you! if it brand me and my accusation with infamy! and God forever bless you!” Then rising, she fled from the room.

The brothers looked at each other.

“Thurston, do you know where she has gone? what she intends to do?”

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“Assuredly.”

“And you would not prevent her?”

“Most certainly not.”

Paul was gazing into his brother’s eyes, and, as he gazed, every vestige of doubt and suspicion vanished from his mind; it was like the sudden clearing up of the sky, and shining forth of the sun; he grasped his brother’s hands with cordial joy.

“God bless you, Thurston!  I echo her prayer.  God forever bless you!  But, Thurston, would it not have been wiser to prevent her going out?”

“How?  Would you have used force with Miriam—­restrained her personal liberty?”

“Yes!  I would have done so!”

“That would have been not only wrong, but useless; for if her strong affections for us were powerless to restrain her, be sure that physical means would fail; she would make herself heard in some way, and thus make our cause much worse.  Besides, I should loathe, for myself, to resort to any such expedients.”

“But she may do so much harm.  And you?”

“I am prepared to meet what comes!”