It is not possible to depict Helen’s intense anguish on hearing this terrible revelation, or her horror to find that, even if prepared to sacrifice her heart to save her father’s credit, it would not now be possible to do so.
She clasped her hands, and fell upon her knees before him.
“Oh, sir! sir!” she moaned, in dire grief; “is there no other way to save you? None? None?”
“Not one loophole to creep out of,” he cried, hoarsely. “Wilton had promised to share with me the estates we both claim. He has recalled that promise, and vast sums are now demanded of me, which I cannot pay. If, however, it is known that you are about to become the bride of one of the wealthiest peers in the kingdom, the harpies will wait, and I shall be rescued.”
“Oh! avenging heaven!” she cried, “and I cannot do this to save them all!”
“Helen!” cried her father, gripping her wrist hard, and hissing in her ear, “you must do this, whatever may have happened! You must marry this peer. I ask you to reveal nothing. Keep your secret, but marry him you must, or ruin—disgrace—death—stares me in the face. Recover yourself—be composed, I leave you for a short time, or my absence will be remarked upon. When I come back, I shall find you cold, and firm, and calm—resolved, at any price to carry out what I demand of you. Not a word! not a word!”
As he spoke he put her from him. She would have clung entreatingly to him, not to exact from her a task so wholly impossible for her to fulfil.
He hurried out of the room, and locked the door without, leaving her a prisoner there.
In an agony of tears she reflected on her position.
“It cannot, must not, shall not be,” she moaned, wringing her hands while she spoke. “No; I will fly to Mr. Wilton. Lotte has spoken of his tenderness of heart. I will appeal to him, on my knees, to save my father; he will not resist my tears, my prayers. Yes, yes, I will go to him—but for this marriage, ugh!” She shuddered violently—“No, death—death rather than that.”