"You knew him, and did not make the first effort to protect your young, confiding, devoted sister! Henry Darlington, the blood of her murdered happiness will never be washed from the skirts of your garments!" "Mother! mother!" exclaimed the young man, putting up his hands to enforce the deprecation in his voice, "do not speak so, or I will go beside myself! But where is she?
When did she go?
I will fly in pursuit.

It may not yet be too late." "Your Uncle Hiram saw her in a carriage with Mr.Burton, on their way, as he supposed, to the steamboat landing.

He has gone to intercept them, if possible." Henry drew his watch from his pocket, and, as he glanced at the time, sank into a chair, murmuring, in a low voice of anguish-- "It is too late!".