“Shall I confess, sir, that, in so far as knowing how to profit by it, I am really unworthy of this piece of fortune? Is Mr. Hankes enough my friend to enlighten me?”
There was a smile that accompanied this speech which went far—very far—to influence Mr. Hankes. Once again did his personal fortunes rise before him; once again did he bethink him that this was an alliance that might lead to much.
“I can give you a case in point, Miss Keliett,—I mean as to the value of a secret. It was when Sir Robert Peel meditated his change in the Corn-laws. One of the council—it does not matter to say his name—accidentally divulged the secret intention, and a great journal gave no less than ten thousand pounds for the intelligence,—ten thousand pounds sterling!”
She seemed to pause over this story, and reflect upon it.
“Now,” resumed Hankes, “it is just as likely he 'd say, 'Money is scarce just now; your demand comes at an inconvenient moment' This would be true,—there's no gainsaying it; and I'd reply, 'Let me have it in shares,—some of the new preference scrip just issued.'”
“How it does allay difficulties to deal with persons of great practical intelligence,—men of purpose-like mind!” said Sybella, gravely.
“Ah, Miss Kellett, if I could only believe that this was a favorable moment to appeal to you in their behalf,—at least, in so far as regards one of their number,—one who has long admired your great qualities in silence, and said to himself, 'What might she not be if allied to one well versed in life, trained to all its chances and changes—'”
“It never occurred to me to fancy I had inspired all this interest, sir,” said she, calmly.
“Probably because your thoughts never dwelt on me,” said Hankes, with a most entreating look; “but I assure you,” added he, warmly, “the indifference was not reciprocal. I have been long—very long attracted by those shining abilities you display. Another might dwell upon your personal attractions, and say the impression your beauty had made upon him; but beauty is a flower,—a perishable hot-house flower. Not,” added he, hastily, “that I pretend to be insensible to its fascinations; no, Miss Kellett, I have my weaknesses like the rest.”
Sybella scarcely heard his words. It was but a day before, and a poor unlettered peasant, an humble creature unread in life and human nature, told her that he deemed her one fit for high and devoted enterprise, and that her rightful place was amidst the wounded and the dying in the Crimea. Had he construed her, then, more truly? At all events, the career was a noble one. She did not dare to contrast it any longer with her late life, so odious now did it seem to her, with all its schemes for wealth, its wily plot-tings and intrigues.