"But she has enough of her own, Tave; the money that was my boy's grandfather's."
"You don't know her, Aurora, not yet, after all you've suffered from her. If you'd seen her and lived with her as I have, year out and year in, you'd know her love of money has eat into her soul and gangrened it. 'T ain't no use to go, I tell you, Aurora." He put out his hand to detain her, for she had thrown on her cloak and was winding the burnous about her head.
"Tave, I'm going; don't say another word against it; and you must take me down. She isn't the only one who has loved money till it blinded them to duty—I can't throw stones—and after all she's a woman; I am going to ask her to help with the money that is rightfully my boy's—and if she gives it, I will take your twenty thousand to make up the amount." She pressed the package into his hand.
"But what if she doesn't?"
"Then I'll ask Father Honoré to do what he proposed to do last week: go to Mr. Van Ostend and ask him for the money—there's nothing left but that." She drew her breath hard and led the way from the room, hurriedly, as if there were not a moment to lose. Octavius followed her, protesting:
"Try Mr. Van Ostend first, Aurora; don't go to Mrs. Champney now."
"Now is the only time. If I hadn't asked my own relation, Mr. Van Ostend would have every reason to say, 'Why didn't you try in your own family first?'"
"But, Aurora, I'm afraid to have you."
"Afraid! I, of Almeda Champney?"
She stopped short on the stairs to look back at him. There was a trace of the old-time haughtiness in her bearing. Octavius welcomed it, for he was realizing that he could not move her from her decision, and as for the message from Almeda Champney, he knew he never could deliver it—he had no courage.