"One course!" ejaculated the count. "Ah! I know full well to what you allude; but never, never will I sell my rights for gold! No, my dear wife—my beloved daughter—we must prepare ourselves to meet our misfortunes in a becoming manner."
"Dear father," murmured Isabella, "your goodness has conferred upon me an excellent education: surely I might turn to advantage some of those accomplishments—"
"You, my sweetest girl!" cried the nobleman, surveying with feelings of ineffable pride the angelic countenance of the lovely being that was leaning upon his shoulder: "you—my own darling girl—a lady of your high rank become a governess! no—never, never!
"Isabella, you are worthy of your noble sire," said the countess enthusiastically.
And, even in the hour of their misfortune, that exiled—ruined family found inexpressible solace in the sweet balm of each other's love!
CHAPTER LXXVII.
A WOMAN'S SECRET.
IT was now seven months since Ellen Monroe became the victim of George Greenwood.
She bore in her bosom the fruit of that amour; and until the present time she had managed to conceal her situation from those around her.
She now began to perceive the utter impossibility of veiling her disgrace much longer. Her health was failing; and her father and Markham were constantly urging upon her the necessity of receiving medical advice. This recommendation she invariably combated to the utmost of her power; and in order to give a colour to her assurance that she suffered only from some trivial physical ailment, she was compelled to affect a flow of good spirits which she was far—very far from experiencing.
Markham had frequently questioned her with the most earnest and friendly solicitude relative to the causes of those intervals of deep depression which it was impossible for her to conceal;—he had implored her to open her mind to him, as a sister might to a brother;—he had suggested to her change of scene, diversion, and other means of restoring her lost spirits;—but to all he advanced she returned evasive replies.