The Freemason's Daughter: A Novel — page 166: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE FREEMASONS DAUGHTER. 157 tain, whose gushing waters give relief to the o’er- fraught heart, was sealed within her widowed breast for ever. By the injunction of her medical attendant, who had suggested the experiment in the faint hope of rousing her from her torpor, it was never to be re- peated, unless, by one of those strange caprices which sometimes haunt sick fancies, she herself should ask it. As Henry Beacham gazed upon the mother of his earliest friend, he felt that Amy had indeed another and a bitter task before her, that in a few weeks—nay, days, perhaps—she would be alone. “IT cannot leave you, Amy; the very thought was cruel !”? he whispered: ‘cruel to yourself and me. If gratitude has its duties, affection has its rights; and not even my uncle has a claim that I should sacrifice them. Perish his wealth,” he added; ‘‘ it shall never make me his slave!” ** You must go!” said Amy, with forced calmness ; ‘vou have promised, and it is your duty. Although cold and harsh to others, your uncle has been kind to you, and has aright to expect it of you. Life, from the cradle to the grave, Henry, is but a succession of sacrifices. I have suffered too much, and offered up too many, to shrink even from this last one.” «« Angel!” exclaimed the young man, pressing her passionately to his breast, “‘ you point out the path of duty, even though your heart bleeds as I pursue it. Perhaps, after all,’ he added, “ the separation may be COniiclooecl SS (SO