"You pain me," he said, taking out a well-filled purse. "See, I have been to the bank to replenish my store for you, you will not grieve me, I am sure."
"No, no, dear uncle," said she, putting aside his hand. "I accept your kind offer, but will not take it now. Should I lose my health, or ever be really destitute—should all my bright visions fail, and leave me one among the many who know not where to find their daily bread while every friend shrinks from them—then I will come to you for my purse, but not till then. Nay, you know not how I prize my independence, do not take from me the only bright speck I see at this moment in my future course."
"Noble-hearted girl," he said, looking almost proudly on the bright and beaming face which was turned to him. "Mind, I take that promise, and I shall return this purse to a place of safety, where it shall remain untouched for you. Ah, but I wish you could be with us still, I grieve, beyond expression, over the cause of your departure."
"Oh, no, indeed, it is much better for me, very much better, if you knew all—do not think of it again; when I have got over the pain of parting from you, my kind, good uncle, I shall be very happy I have no doubt."
But her lips trembled as she made this assertion, and, feeling her courage fail, she hastily left the study to spare him the sight of her agitation.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands;
Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.
Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might,
Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight.