"I dare not touch it. I fear 'tis the price of sin—or, perhaps, of blood."
"Fool; 'tis wealth I've had in store these eighteen years, given to me by times by one who, if there be justice in Heaven or hell, is now accursed on earth. There is no more evil in it than in every piece of gold that the earth contains—all gold is evil—it is all but the price of honour, of honesty, or of human blood. Take it, and depart from this land."
He gazed on the glittering heap, and hope, by its aid, pictured bright visions of the future, and the fruition of all his aspiring wishes. Ambition once more awakened in his heart. Yet he hesitated. But, while he did so, he thought of Kate Bellamont—of the proud Lester—of his hopes of the future—of all that he had loved to contemplate; he even gave a thought to Grace Fitzgerald: all that an aspiring mind like his, at such a time, could be influenced by, had its effect upon him. She narrowly watched his countenance, read rightly his thoughts, and, feeling assured of his acceptance of it, mentally congratulated herself that her object could be effected without the shedding of his blood. She waited till she thought his mind was sufficiently ripe for her purpose, then replaced the gold in the purse, and, balancing it in her hand, said, "Before you take this purse, I name one condition of its acceptance."
He looked to her to mention it.
"That you for ever drop your present name and assume another; that you never breathe to mortal ear the place of your birth, nor give clew to your country."
"I gladly promise this—for already I had resolved on it, Elpsy. I have one great motive for doing so. But what can be yours?"
"'Tis no matter. You promise this?"
"Cheerfully."
"Then take the gold for thy grandsire's support."
"Thanks, thanks, kind Elpsy—yet—"