“My father? No. He knows nothing of the meeting. He does not know me all the time. Haven’t you heard how bad he is?”
There was no reply, and she went on:
“He is completely crushed, and so sorry. Why, he is an old man in looks. I know he has done wrong, and I am so sorry, and mother is, too. Neither of us had any suspicion of the truth. If we had had, do you think we would have allowed so much expenditure? Never. I don’t know why he did it, but it is done, and I have come to ask you not to proceed against him; not to have him arrested, as I have heard you mean to do. It will do no good. It will not restore your money, and it cannot add to your happiness to know that my father, whom you have professed to like so much, is in prison. He may die,” here her voice broke, but she steadied herself and went on, “but, whether he lives or dies, his debts shall be paid. It will take time—years, maybe—but I am young, only eighteen, and I know how I can pay them. I have thought it all out, and feel sure I can do it.”
“Have you an idee how much they be?” Godfrey Sheldon asked.
“Yes,” she replied; “but, much or little, if God spares my life, I’ll pay them. Believe me, I will. Our house is for sale, with the horses and carriage and diamonds. The piano is sold, and my wheel, and with part of the money they brought I have paid some of the smaller debts. We shall give up everything, and we shall take a small, cheap house by and by; but I want father to stay where he is till he is better, or worse, and perhaps you won’t mind if we keep enough to live on a while. We must have something.”
Her voice broke again, but she had said all she came to say, and, covering her face with her hands, the tears trickled through her fingers and dropped into her lap. For a moment there was perfect silence, and more than one wiped his eyes at sight of this young girl, pleading for her father, and promising to pay a debt which would stagger many a strong man, and which they felt sure she could never do. But that did not matter. They were, most of them, men with kind hearts, and Louie had done more for her father than Herbert could ever have done. It was a little awkward, not knowing who should speak first, or what he should say, or how his companions were feeling. The neighbor of the Greys finally took the initiative.
He had hesitated about coming, for he knew Mr. Grey was ill, he said. The doctor had told him so. All broke up, he understood, which proved he was not a hardened wretch. Nothing could bring back the money, and why not let him alone? His own thoughts would be punishment enough, and he did not believe in kicking a fellow when he was down. Better give him a chance to get up again.
Louie’s eyes were very bright as she smiled upon him and turned to the others for their decision.
“Yes, let him go,” every one said, except Godfrey Sheldon, who was silent.
His two thousand dollars weighed heavily upon him, and Louie’s refusal to turn the horses and carriage toward his debt weighed heavier.