“What will become of us?—of India? My child! my child! that your high head should be bowed with shame!” cried the wretched man, in a voice of anguish.
“Reassure yourself, sir, I beg. I can answer for Rosalie’s noble heart. You are safe from all punishment from her. And now let us part at once. You had better return to Cashmere, where your family must be anxiously awaiting you.”
“And where will you stay?”
“To-night I shall go on board the steamer Victress, which will leave for the Upper Mississippi to-morrow.”
Suddenly the old man lifted up his head, and showed a countenance brightened with hope. Mr. Sutherland stopped to hear what he had to say. He grasped the arm of his nephew, exclaiming—
“Oh! Mark, I have it now. I have found the means by which family honour and Rosalie’s fortune both may be saved. Rosalie need not deny her signature; that will protect me, and save family honour. But the signature was written before she came of age; therefore the deeds are null and void and the usurer cannot foreclose the mortgage, or recover his money. So you see that I can—I mean family honour—can be saved, and Rosalie lose nothing either.”
An involuntary expression of scorn and loathing flashed from Mark Sutherland’s fine Roman face for a moment; and then, composing himself, he replied, coolly—
“No, sir; if you are saved, it must be at our own proper cost and loss.”
And so they parted.