"I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. She mentally reprimanded herself to alter her own visage so as not to appear depraved. "Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. Back, that you may be close together. "But if it is thy will to take me from him," she continued, as soon as her emotion permitted her,—"if he must be left an orphan amid strangers, implant, I beseech thee, a mother's feelings in some other bosom, and raise up a friend, who shall be to him what I would have been. ‘If he had, he’d have found the sword, see.
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