"Come—come!" said the old man; "I have no time for such talk that leads to nothing."
"But it must lead to something," urged Bessie; "for that very reason have I come here. You know, my dear father, that you made me a promise when I gave my consent, and I come now to remind you of it."
"I made no promise," said the old man, impatiently.
"Indeed, father, you did; and on the strength of that promise I found the force to conquer my own heart, and make the sacrifice you required of me."
"Oh, sacrifice! sacrifice!" sneered Squire Cleverdon. "I have been a cruel father, to be sure; I have required you to offer yourself up as a victim! Pshaw! You keep your home—it becomes doubly yours—you get a husband, and retain your own name of Cleverdon. What more do you require? It is a sacrifice to become heiress of Hall! Good faith! Your brother would give his ears for such a sacrifice as this. Go and get ready for the guests."
"I cannot go from you, father," answered Elizabeth, with gentleness, and yet, withal, with firmness. "I should be doing an injustice to myself, to my brother, and to you, were I not now to speak out. There was a compact made between us. I promised to take him whom you had determined on for me because it was your wish, and because it was necessary for the saving of the estate. I suppose Fox made it a condition. He would not help you out of your difficulties unless I gave him my hand."
"Fox knows nothing about them."
"What!" Bessie turned the colour of chalk. "Father! you do not mean what you say? He has been told all. He is aware that the mortgage is called in, and must be paid."
The old man fidgetted in his chair; he could not look his daughter in the face. He growled forth:
"You wenches! what do you understand of business—of money concerns—mortgages, and the like? Say what you have to say and be gone, but leave these money-matters on one side."