Drusilla moaned, but spoke no word in answer.
“If I were to go now to Alick and tell him of your presence in the house, and urge him to resign my hand and to do you justice, he would not hear me.”
“No, he would not,” wailed Drusilla.
“If I were to appeal to my grandfather, the high-spirited old soldier would—kick him out doors!”
“Ah!” gasped Drusilla, pierced more sharply by this idea of prospective insult to her Alick than she could be by any ignomy that might cover herself.
“Then what is to be done?” inquired Anna.
“Nothing, nothing,” sighed Drusilla. “I wish I were dead. I wish I were in Heaven!”
“Yes; but you see we can’t die just when the whim seizes us; and if we could, we shouldn’t go to Heaven by that means.”
“Ah, Heaven have mercy! have mercy on me, for my state is desperate!”
“Yes, Drusilla, your state is desperate—desperate enough to drive you to despair.”