“How good of you! Let me think a little over it, and I will decide. It would be a great comfort to me to have you here when Charles Heathcote comes. I might need your assistance in many ways, but perhaps—Yes, you had better go; and a pressing entreaty on your part for me to hasten to the death-bed of my 'poor aunt' can be the reason for my own hurried departure. Is it not provoking how many embarrassments press at the same moment? It is an attack front, rear, and on the flanks.”
“You 're equal to it, dear,—you 're equal to it,” said he, with the same glance of encouragement.
“I almost think I should go with you, papa,—take French leave of these good people, and evacuate the fortress,—if it were not that next week I expect Ludlow to be back here with the letters, and I cannot neglect that. Can you explain it to me?” cried she, more eagerly,—“there is not one in this family for whom I entertain the slightest sense of regard,—they are all less than indifferent to me,—and yet I would do anything, endure anything, rather than they should learn my true history, and know all about my past life; and this, too, with the certainty that we were never to meet again.”
“That is pride, Loo,—mere pride.”
“No,” said she, tremulously, “it is shame. The consciousness that one's name is never to be uttered but in scorn in those places where once it was always spoken of in honor,—the thought that the fair fame we had done so much to build up should be a dreary ruin, is one of the saddest the heart can feel; for, let the world say what it will, we often give all our energies to hypocrisy, and throw passion into what we meant to be mere acting. Well, well, enough of moralizing, now for action. You will want money for this trip, papa; see if there be enough there.” And she opened her writing-desk, and pushed it towards him.
The Captain took out his double eye-glass, and then, with due deliberation, proceeded to count over a roll of English notes fresh from the bank.
“In funds, I see, Loo,” said he, smiling.
“It is part of the last three hundred I possess in the world. I drew it out yesterday, and, as I signed the check, I felt as might a sailor going over the side as his ship was sinking. Do you know,” said she, hurriedly, “it takes a deal of courage to lead the life I have done.”
“No doubt,—no doubt,” muttered he, as he went on counting. “Forty-five, fifty, fifty-five—”
“Take them all, papa; I have no need of them. Before the month ends I mean to be a millionnaire or 'My Lady.'”