"But what can we do?"
"Anything would be better than that," said Bella. "And you don't want to punish Mr. Gibson, mamma."
"But, my dear, you see what your uncle says. What can I do, except go to him for advice?"
"Why don't you go to Mr. Gibson yourself, mamma?"
But nothing was said to Camilla about Mr. Crump;—nothing as yet. Camilla did not love Mr. Crump, but there was no other house except that of Mr. Crump's at Gloucester to which she might be sent, if it could be arranged that Mr. Gibson and Bella should be made one. Mrs. French took her eldest daughter's advice, and went to Mr. Gibson;—taking Mr. Crump's letter in her pocket. For herself she wanted nothing,—but was it not the duty of her whole life to fight for her daughters? Poor woman! If somebody would only have taught her how that duty might best be done, she would have endeavoured to obey the teaching. "You know I do not want to threaten you," she said to Mr. Gibson; "but you see what my brother says. Of course I wrote to my brother. What could a poor woman do in such circumstances except write to her brother?"
"If you choose to set the bloodhounds of the law at me, of course you can," said Mr. Gibson.
"I do not want to go to law at all;—God knows I do not!" said Mrs. French. Then there was a pause. "Poor dear Bella!" ejaculated Mrs. French.
"Dear Bella!" echoed Mr. Gibson.
"What do you mean to do about Bella?" asked Mrs. French.
"I sometimes think that I had better take poison and have done with it!" said Mr. Gibson, feeling himself to be very hard pressed.