“’Twould be saving your Everell’s life,” said Foxwell, dispassionately.
“’Tis an excellent match, dear,” put in Lady Strange, softly, “if Mr. Thornby’s estate is what I take it to be.”
“Oh, but, Lady Strange,—you are a woman—you should understand.”
“I do, child,” replied the elder lady, with an inward sigh, “but—these matters reconcile themselves in time. ’Twill not be so intolerable, believe me. And who knows—” Whatever it was that who knew, Lady Strange abruptly broke off to another line of thought. “The point is, to save your lover’s life, my dear.”
“Ay,” said Foxwell, beginning to show impatience, “ere the opportunity is gone. Now lookye, Georgiana, I must hear your answer without more ado. I am going to have a horse saddled at once. It shall carry either your acceptance to Mr. Thornby, or word of this rebel to those who will not be slow in securing him. ’Tis for you to say which, and before many minutes.”
Instead of calling a servant, Foxwell went out to the hall to give the order, consigning Georgiana by a look to the persuasions of Lady Strange.
“Come, my dear,” said that lady, bending kindly over Georgiana, who had sunk weeping into a chair by the table; “’tis but marrying him you love not, for the sake of him you love.”
“’Tis being false to him I love,” sobbed the girl.
“False to him, but to save his life—a loyal kind of falseness, poor child!”
She continued in this strain, though with no apparent effect upon Georgiana, who presently flung her arms upon the table and, bowing her head upon them, shook with weeping. In this attitude her uncle found her when he returned from ordering the horse.