“There is only one way out of the difficulty, Claire.”
“A way, father?”
“Yes; Lord Carboro’ spoke to me again this morning on the Parade. He came up to me like the gentleman he is, and just as I had been openly cut by townsman after townsman. He shook hands with me and took my arm, Claire, and—and—I told him he might come here—to-day—and speak to you.”
“Oh, father, what have you done? You have not taken money from him?”
“No—no—no!” cried the old man indignantly. “I have not sunk so low as that; but it was tempting. That man Isaac has grown insolent, and has twice come home intoxicated. Claire, I am the fellow’s slave while I am in his debt. I want to send him away, but I cannot. Hush!”
There was a double knock at the door, and Denville went softly down, leaving Claire with a fresh agony to battle against, for, few as had been her father’s words, they had been sufficiently plain to make her ask herself whether it was not her duty to give up everything—to sell herself, as it were, to this old nobleman, that her father might be saved from penury, and her sister placed beyond the reach of want; for her home must in future be with them.
“Have we not at last reached the very dregs of bitterness?” she said wildly. “Heaven help me in this cruel strait!”
The door opened softly, and Denville signed to Claire to come to him on the landing.
“It is Lord Carboro’,” he whispered. “You must speak to him.”
Claire shrank back for a moment, but her firmness returned, and she closed the door and followed her father to take his hand.