“Let us learn the worst at once, then,” said she, resolutely, as she opened the letter.
“Who told you that was the worst?” broke he in, angrily. “The worst isn't over for the felon in the dock when the judge has finished the sentence; there's the 'drop' to come, after that.”
“Father, father!” cried she, pitifully, “be yourself again. Remember what you said the other night, that if we had poor Jack back again you'd not be afraid to face life in some new world beyond the seas, and care little for hardships or humble fortune if we could only be together.”
“I was dreaming, I suppose,” muttered he, doggedly.
“No; you were speaking out of the fulness of your love and affection; you were showing me how little the accidents of fortune touch the happiness of those resolved to walk humbly, and that, once divested of that repining spirit which was ever recalling the past, we should confront the life before us more light of heart than we have felt for many a year.”
“I wonder what put it in my head,” muttered he, in the same despondent tone.
“Your own stout heart put it there. You were recalling what young Conway was telling us about poor Jack's plans and projects; and how, when the war was over, he 'd get the Sultan to grant him a patch of land close to the Bosphorus, where he'd build a little kiosk for us all, and we 'd grow our own corn and have our own vines and fig-trees, seeking for nothing but what our own industry should give us.”
“Dreams, dreams!” said he, sighing drearily. “You may read the letter now.” And she began,—
“Sir,—By direction of Mr. Davenport Dunn, I have to
acquaint you that the Commissioners, having overruled the
objections submitted by him, will on Tuesday next proceed to
the sale of the lands of Kellett's Court, Gorestown, and
Kilinaganny, free of all charges and encumbrances thereon,
whether by marriage settlement—”
“I told you,—that's just what I was saying,” burst in Kellett; “there's not sixpence left us!”