"
"O Sally, don't let him," said Mary, speaking at last heartily; and
running to the door, she would have fastened it, but Sally held her
hands, laughing meanwhile at her distress.
"Oh, please, Sally," struggling, "dear Sally! don't let him come
here, the neighbours will so talk, and father'll go mad if he hears;
he'll kill me, Sally, he will. Besides, I don't love him--I never
did. Oh, let me go," as footsteps approached; and then, as they
passed the house, and seemed to give her a respite, she continued,
"Do, Sally, dear Sally, go and tell him I don't love him, and that I
don't want to have anything more to do with him. It was very wrong,
I dare say, keeping company with him at all, but I'm very sorry, if
I've led him to think too much of me; and I don't want him to think
any more. Will you tell him this, Sally? and I'll do anything for
you, if you will."
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Sally, in a more relenting mood;
"I'll go back with you to where he's waiting for us; or rather, I
should say, where I told him to wait for a quarter of an hour, till
I seed if your father was at home; and if I didn't come back in that
time, he said he'd come here, and break the door open but he'd see
you.
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