in her face: "Forty years! Is it forty years?" he repeated; "but it
must be; the fair brow is wrinkled, and the abundant hair grown thin
and gray. You were a pretty baby, Sarah, and a merry child; a cheerful
girl, too, until that foolish fancy. Well, dear, I'll say no more
about it; good, dutiful girl. You gave it up to please your father
full twenty years ago, and when he dies, you shall have _all_ his
gold--there's a good father! You must _keep_ it, Sarah, and not give
it, nor lend it. I know you won't marry, as _he_ is dead; nor see your
sister--mind that; if you see _her_, or serve her, the bitterest curse
that ever rose from a father's grave will compass you in on every
side."

"My father!" she said, "oh! in mercy to yourself, revoke these words.
She knew nothing of her husband's conduct; he used her even worse than
he used you. Oh! for my sake say you will forgive Mary. It is all I
ask. Do what you please with your wealth, but forgive my sister."

"You were always a fool, Sarah," he replied faintly and peevishly. "If
I could do as I please, I would take my property with me, for you will
surely spend it. But there is another condition, another promise you
must give me. Now, don't interrupt me again. We will talk of _her_
by-and-bye, perhaps. As long as you live, Sarah, _as you value my
blessing_, you must not part with anything in this room. You will live
on in the old house, or perhaps sell it, and have a smaller; yet don't
spend money in new furnishing--don't; but never part with anything in
_this room_; never so much as a stick."

This promise was willingly given; for, independently of her love for
her father, Sarah Bond had become attached to the inanimate objects
which had so long been before her. Again she endeavoured to lead