"And when I returned home—late—" continued Ellen, her voice scarcely rising above a whisper, and her face, neck, and bosom suffused with burning blushes, "did I not bring you gold also?"
"Merciful heavens!" cried Monroe, starting from his seat; "say no more, Ellen—say no more—or I shall go mad! Oh, God! I comprehend it all! You went and sold yourself to some libertine for gold!"
The old man threw himself into his daughter's arms, and wept bitterly.
"Father—dear father, calm yourself," said Ellen.
"I could not see you want—I had no faith in the success of your appeal to him who has since been our benefactor—I thought that there was but one resource left;—but," she added, her eyes kindling with the fire of pride, while her father sank back into his seat, "I call my God to witness that I acted not thus for myself. Oh, no! death sooner should have been my fate. But you, my dear father, you wanted bread; you were starving; and that was more than I could bear! I sinned but once—but once; and never, never have I ceased to repent of that fatal step—for my one crime bore its fruit!"
Monroe was convulsed with grief. The tears trickled through the wrinkled hands with which he covered his venerable countenance; his voice was lost in agonising sobs, and all he could utter were the words: "Ellen, my daughter, it is for me to ask pardon of you!"
"No, say not so, dear father—say not so!" ejaculated Miss Monroe, throwing her arms around him, and kissing his forehead and his hands. "No, my dear father, it was not your fault, if misery drove me to despair. But now you perceive," she added, solemnly, "that I was more to be pitied than to be blamed; and—and," she murmured, the falsehood at such a moment almost suffocating her, "you understand why I cannot tell you who was the father of my child!"
There was something so terrible in the idea that a young, virtuous, and lovely girl had prostituted herself to the first unknown libertine who had bid a price for her charms,—something so appalling to a father in the thought that his only child had been urged by excess of misery and profound affection for him, to such a dismal fate, that Monroe seemed to sink under the blow!
For some time did his daughter vainly endeavour to solace him; and it was only when she herself began to rave and beat her bosom with anguish and in despair, that the old man was recalled to a sense of the necessity of calming his almost invincible emotions.
The father and daughter were at length restored to partial tranquillity by each other's endeavours at reciprocal consolation, and were commingling their tears together, when the door opened.