“And pray, Miss Susan, what business have you with all this?” retorted her father, half pleased, half angry.
“Why, father, you taught me yourself; and thought me very stupid because I did not comprehend it as soon as you expected,” answered Susan, leaning over and kissing him; “and now you ask me what business I have to know it.”
“Well, well, girl, it’s very true,” said the old man, smiling, “but allowing that you are correct, what then?”
“Why then, father, don’t be angry if I say that it appears to me that you have more money now than you can spend while you live, or know to whom to leave when you die. What, then, is the use of confining yourself in a dirty, narrow street, and toiling all day for no earthly advantage?”
“But how do you know that I have nobody to leave my money to, Susan?”
“Have you not repeatedly said that you have no relations or kin, that you are aware of; except me; that you were once a sailor before the mast—an orphan, bound apprentice by the parish? Whom, then, have you except me?—and if you continue here much longer, father, I feel convinced that you will not have me—you will have no one. If you knew how tired I am of looking out at this horrid brick wall—how I long for the country, to be running among the violets and primroses—how I pine for relief from this little dungeon. Oh! what would I give to be flying before the breeze in the lugger with McElvina!”
“Indeed, Miss!” replied old Hornblow, whom the reader may recognise as the patron of our smuggling captain.
“Well, father, there’s no harm in saying so. I want freedom. I feel as if I could not be too free; I should like to be blown about in a balloon. Oh, why don’t you give up business, go down to the sea-side, take a pretty little cottage, and make yourself and me happy? I fancy the sea-breeze is blowing in my face, and all my ringlets out of curl. I shall die if I stay here much longer—I shall indeed, father.”
Repeated attacks of this nature had already sapped the foundation; and a lovely and only daughter had the influence over her father’s heart, to which she was entitled.
“Well, well, Susan, let McElvina wind up the accounts of this vessel, and then I will do as you wish; but I cannot turn him adrift, you know.”