“Yes, from a merciful God. Oh, father, if I wring your heart in what I say it is because I love you as your child.”
“Ah!”
A piteous sigh escaped his lips, and his head sank down upon his breast.
“You are silent,” she cried reproachfully, “silent, when the time is so short. I shall be dragged from your side directly, and you have not advised me what to do. I must have money. I must get counsel for you and advice.”
He drew a long breath and raised his head, his lips parting but uttering no sound.
“Yes!” she cried, “yes! Speak, father. Shall I go to Mr Barclay?”
“No.”
“Then tell me what I shall do, dear. Pray rouse yourself from this despair. Speak—tell me. What shall I do first?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Oh, father!”