make him mad with villainous delight. The second year of widowhood had
commenced. Margaret had doffed her weeds. She openly received the man on
whom she had bestowed her heart. They were betrothed. The public voice
proclaimed young Allcraft the luckiest of men; the public soul envied and
hated him for his good fortune. Abraham could never leave the presence of
his future daughter--and in her presence could never cease to flatter her,
and to grow disgusting in his lavish praises of his son.

"When I first saw you, my dear lady," said the greedy banker, "I had but
one thought on my mind that livelong day. 'What would I give,' said I,
'for such a daughter? what would I give if for my noble son I could secure
so sweet a wife? I never met his equal--I say it, madam--who, being his
father, should perhaps not say it; but a stranger can admire his lusty
form and figure, and his mind is just as vigorous and sprightly. A rare
youth, madam, I assure you--too disinterested, perhaps--too generous, too
confiding--too regardless of the value of that necessary evil--money; but
as he gets older he will be wiser. I do believe he would rather have died,
though he loved you so much--than asked you for your hand, if he had not
been thoroughly independent without it.'"

"I can believe it, sir," sighed Margaret.

"I know you can--bless you! You were born for one another. You are a sweet
pair. I know not which is prettiest--which I love the best. I love you
both better than any thing in the world--that is at present; for by-and-by,
you know, I may love something quite as well. Grandfathers are fond and
foolish creatures. But, as I was saying--his independence is so fine--so
like himself. Every thing I have will be his. He is my partner now--the
bank will be his own at my death, madam. A prosperous concern. Many of our
neighbours would like to have a finger in the pie; but Abraham Allcraft