“You speak of Captain Scarthe?”
“I do.”
“Indeed! it is true,” interposed Lora. “You know he has more than once thrown out hints, as to what he could do to obtain dear uncle’s freedom. I would go upon my knees to him, if it were of any use; but you know, Marion, one word from you would be worth all the entreaties that Walter and I could make. O, cousin! let us not speak in riddles at such a time as this. You know the reason?”
“Marion!” said Walter, half divining Lora’s implied meaning; “If this man speak sincerely—if it be true that he has the influence he boasts of—and I have heard as much at Court—then there may be a hope. I know not to what Lora refers. She says that a word from you may accomplish much. Dear sister; is it a sacrifice?”
“You have styled it truly, Walter, in calling it a sacrifice. Without that, my entreaties would be vain as yours. I am sure of it.”
“Say, sister! What sacrifice?”
“My hand—my hand!”
“Dear, dear Marion! If it be not with your heart, you cannot promise it—you could not give it.”
“Without such promise, I know he would deny me.”
“The wretch! O, heavens! And yet it is our father’s life—ay, his very life!”