On receiving this broadside the Somerset altered her tone directly, and said, obsequiously: “That is true, sir, and I beg your pardon for comparing you to the trash. But brave men are pitiful, you know. Then show your pity here. Pity a gentleman that repented his faults as soon as your daughter showed him there was a better love within reach, and now lies stung by an anonymous viper, and almost dying of love and mortification; and pity your own girl, that will soon lose her health, and perhaps her life, if you don't give in.”
“She is not so weak, madam. She is in better spirits already.”
“Ay, but then she didn't know what he had suffered for her. She does now, for I heard her moan; and she will die for him now, or else she will give you twice as many kisses as usual some day, and cry a bucketful over you, and then run away with her lover. I know women better than you do; I am one of the precious lot.”
The admiral replied only with a look of superlative scorn. This incensed the Somerset; and that daring woman, whose ear was nearer to the door, and had caught sounds that escaped the men, actually turned the handle, and while her eye flashed defiance, her vigorous foot spurned the folding-doors wide open in half a moment.
Bella Bruce lay with her head sidewise on the table, and her hands extended, moaning and sobbing piteously for poor Sir Charles.
“For shame, madam, to expose my child,” cried the admiral, bursting with indignation and grief. He rushed to her and took her in his arms.
She scarcely noticed him, for the moment he turned her she caught sight of Miss Somerset, and recognized her face in a moment. “Ah! the Sister of Charity!” she cried, and stretched out her hands to her, with a look and a gesture so innocent, confiding, and imploring, that the Somerset, already much excited by her own eloquence, took a turn not uncommon with termagants, and began to cry herself.
But she soon stopped that, for she saw her time was come to go, and avoid unpleasant explanations. She made a dart and secured the two letters. “Settle it among yourselves,” said she, wheeling round and bestowing this advice on the whole party; then shot a sharp arrow at the admiral as she fled: “If you must be a tool of Richard Bassett, don't be a tool and a dupe by halves. He is in love with her too. Marry her to the blackguard, and then you will be sure to kill Sir Charles.” Having delivered this with such volubility that the words pattered out like a roll of musketry, she flounced out, with red cheeks and wet eyes, rushed down the stairs, and sprang into her carriage, whipped the ponies, and away at a pace that made the spectators stare.
Mr. Oldfield muttered some excuses, and retired more sedately.
All this set Bella Bruce trembling and weeping, and her father was some time before he could bring her to anything like composure. Her first words, when she could find breath, were, “He is innocent; he is unhappy. Oh, that I could fly to him!”