“Not abandoned—only to that I thought your soul desired; the place, the riches, the—the honour. I had never supposed but you possessed them all—managed—administered them—”
“For you, my daughter? Even my love must reject a trust so offered. What honour could survive that imputation of self-interest? I would have consented to be your steward else—faithful on a crust, if love and confidence had sweetened it. But it does not matter now. Nothing matters any longer, since my child is here a penitent to reconcile me with the thought of our separation.”
“Father! O, my God! I have not deserved it. Look, I will nurse you back to health and peace of mind. I will be so humble and so loving. Father, do not die!”
He questioned her face searchingly. He saw her heart was his so surely, that any further fencing before he pierced it would serve but to prolong his luxury of triumph. Yet he fenced.
“To nurse me?” he said, smiling weak and saintly. “A simple task, Yolande. Even the remnant of fortune left me, after my debts are paid, might crown my few last days with feasting, if I wished it. But my wants are soon supplied.”
“Only live, dear father, and your fortune—”
She stopped, shuddering, and buried her face in the bedclothes. He scanned the back of her head curiously.
“My fortune!” he echoed. “Ah! I had once dreamed my fortune might have lain in helping to turn great evil into a blessing. I had seen, in my fond imagination, churches enriched, charities endowed, all that wealth and power had used to evil ends converted to measureless good. But it was a fantastic dream. We exalt ourselves, no doubt, in planning for the human emancipation. God has rebuked my vanity.”
She lifted her flowing eyes to him.
“Had you had such dreams? O, father! be my almoner, then, and let me live on the crust.”