"I thank you for your kindly prophecy," said a low but firm voice beside him.
Rebecca, having caught the raised tones of Vernon, and fearing lest aught of discussion might weary her enfeebled father, had hurried to the spot; thus becoming the auditor of what was not meant for her hearing. She stood, the colour deepened into scarlet on her cheek, her lip curved with scorn, and, her dark eyebrows almost meeting in their indignation, while her large eyes flashed as if the pupil were indeed an orb turned by the soul to light, she continued: "I thank you; but now listen to my words, even as I have done to yours. Rather would I bear the doom your kindness has poured into the ear of a dying father, than be your wife!"
She said no more, but walked hastily away; and in another moment Vernon was seen hurrying along the winding road.
Clinton retired to rest sooner than usual; and his daughter took her accustomed seat, to watch during the earlier part of the night. He had slept, or seemed to sleep, for more than two hours, when suddenly he rose in his bed.
"Give me to drink, my child," he murmured almost inaudibly, yet with seeming effort.
She took the cup, and raised it to his mouth: but scarcely could her trembling hand replace it on the table, for she started to see the alteration in her father's face.
