her father away from that avarice which had corrupted his soul, and
driven happiness and peace from their dwelling. She urged the duty of
forgiveness, and pleaded hard for her sister; but, though the hours
wore away, she made no impression upon him. Utterly unmindful of
her words, he did not either interrupt her or fall into his former
violence. On the contrary, he seemed involved in some intricate
calculation--counting on his fingers, or casting up lines of imaginary
figures upon the coverlit.

Sarah, heart-broken, and silently weeping, retreated to the table, and
again, after turning the fire, betook her to her solace--the precious
volume that never fails to afford consolation to the afflicted. She
read a few passages, and then, though she looked upon the book, her
mind wandered. She recalled the happy days of her childhood, before
her father, by the extraordinary and most unexpected bequest of a
distant relative, became possessed of property to what extent she
could form no idea. She knew that this relative had quarrelled with
the heir-at-law, and left all to one he had never seen. This bequest
had closed up her father's heart; instead of being a blessing, so
perfectly avaricious had he grown, that it was a curse. Previously, he
had been an industrious farmer; and though a thrifty one, had evinced
none of the bitterness of avarice, none of its hardness or tyranny.
He could then sleep at nights, permit his wife and children to share
their frugal stores with those who needed, troll "Ere around the huge
oak," while his wife accompanied him on the spinnet, and encourage
his daughters to wed men in what was their then sphere of life, rather
than those who might not consider the gentle blood they inherited, and
their superior education, a sufficient set-off to their limited means
and humble station. Suddenly, riches poured in upon him: his eldest
daughter, true to the faith she plighted, would marry her humble