“I know it! Oh! I know it! My love has destroyed your happiness. Oh, Georgia! did you never see a beautiful bird, and long to have it for your own, only to caress and pamper and pet it? Oh, Georgia! my child, my pet, my bird! that was the reason I wanted you! I wanted to cherish, and fondle, and make you happy!”
“Ah-h! And did you never see such a bird as you spoke of, in spite of all the petting, and pampering, and fondlings, beat out its weary life against its prison bars and die?”
“Don’t die, Georgia! Don’t die! Hope! Alas! I wished only to make you happy—I have failed! I have made you miserable!”
“‘Miserable,’ ruined! despairing! desperate!” she cried, wildly wringing her hands.
“Nay, not despairing, Georgia! I am an old man, as you justly said—quite an old man. I have not very long to live, and when I die, Georgia, you will still be a very young woman. Bethink you, you are scarce seventeen—in ten years more you will be but twenty-seven, and is it even likely that I shall live so long as that? No! And after my heart is cold, and my head is laid low, Georgia will be a beautiful young widow—ay, and with a rich jointure, too! I shall take care of that!”
“Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! pathetic! I tell you, that if you were to die to-morrow, my life is not the less ruined—despairing!” bitterly exclaimed the young woman.
“Nay, but that cannot be, Georgia. Ruined? Despairing? What! at seventeen years of age? Nonsense, my love! Nothing but crime can make the youthful despair! Nonsense, my child! You are hysterical!” he said, moving towards her with outstretched arms.
“Dotard! driveller!” she cried, turning fiercely upon him, with eyes blazing with scorn and malignity. “Imbecile! Will you leave me to myself?”
The old gentleman turned away, walked several times slowly up and down the floor, and finally saying—
“Yes, I know I am a dotard! I know it, and I grow ashamed of dotage—” clapped his hat upon his head and walked out.