"No," replied Jonathan, moodily. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. " "Loved me! You!" "I loved you," continued Jonathan, "and struck by your appearance, which seemed above your station, inquired your history, and found you had been stolen by a gipsy in Lancashire. Perhaps her granddaughter might marry his grandson. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. ‘I don’t want no gold! Not for serving my mistress. Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking.
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