"I will tell you the truth of it," she said. "Something you will perhaps have guessed already, the rest you would discover did not I tell you."
I sat down by her side, and she continued, choosing her words.
"My father is not altogether—strong, and these stories do no good." Then she stopped. "It is more difficult to tell you than I thought."
"There is no need," said I, "that you should say another word."
"Thank you," said she very gratefully; and for a little we were silent.
"Has he spoken to you of a ship?" she asked slowly; and I started. "Ah! he thinks it is a secret from us. But we know, for he sold the land not so long ago wherewith to buy it He is the noblest man in the world," she continued hurriedly. "The thought of any one suffering touches him to the quick; the thought of oppression kindles him to anger, and he will do his part, and more than his part, in relieving the one and fighting against the other. So that unless Mary and I did what we could, he would not possess to-day so much as a farthing."
"I understand," said I, "Mary's welcome to me yesterday."
She looked at me with a smile.
"Yes," said she, "but your looks warranted her. The ship was to be fitted out to help the Catalans. It lies at Whitehaven now. He was there but a few days ago."
"He spoke of it to me," said I, "with some hint that he might put me across to France."