“We have believed as much,” replied the daughters, speaking together; “do not fear for us. We are prepared for the worst.”
“Prepared to sink from affluence into poverty? To give up this home, where all is luxury and elegance, and go down into obscurity, perhaps privation and labor?”
“Yes, father,” said Eunice, in a calm yet earnest voice. “Of all the good gifts which Providence placed in your hands, we have had our full share; and shall we hesitate or repine when reverses come? No; fear not to tell us all.”
Mr. Townsend hardly knew what to say or think at such unexpected words. With himself the bitterness had passed; it was for his family that his heart ached, and from the thoughts of breaking to them the dreadful intelligence that he shrunk. But the way had been made, unexpectedly, plain before him; so plain that he could hardly believe himself awake, or venture to put his foot forth to walk therein.
“My children!” he said, with much emotion, “you speak to me strange words. I can hardly believe that I hear them.”
“But they are true words,” promptly replied Eunice, “for they come from our hearts. And now let us know the worst, that we may prepare for the worst. Of course we must leave this house and move into a smaller one.”
“Yes, that step is inevitable,” returned the father, his voice sinking again into sadness.
“And the more cheerfully it is taken, the less shall we feel the change,” said Eunice.
“But, can you give up all? Can you sink down from the first circle into obscurity? Can you give up your associations and friendships? Ah! my children, you have not counted the cost.”
“We have, fully, and are ready,” was the firm reply.