“Yet, my poor Audley, you ask me to be ambitious.”
“I only wish you to be consoled,” cried Egerton, with passion.
“I will try to be so; and by the help of a milder remedy than yours. I said that my adventure might influence my future; it brought me acquainted not only with the young man I speak of, but the most winning, affectionate child,—a girl.”
“Is this child an Avenel too?”
“No, she is of gentle blood,—a soldier’s daughter; the daughter of that Captain Digby on whose behalf I was a petitioner to your patronage. He is dead, and in dying, my name was on his lips. He meant me, doubtless, to be the guardian to his orphan. I shall be so. I have at last an object in life.”
“But can you seriously mean to take this child with you abroad?”
“Seriously, I do.”
“And lodge her in your own house?”
“For a year or so, while she is yet a child. Then, as she approaches youth, I shall place her elsewhere.”
“You may grow to love her. Is it clear that she will love you,—not mistake gratitude for love? It is a very hazardous experiment.”