“There is one thing I want, you know what; and my only other request is that you will see your daughter.”
Cristalar drew back. “She is yours, Henry Holcombe,” he said solemnly, “as far as she is mine to give; but she is an alien to my faith, and to my home.”
“No, no, it must not, shall not be. Remember how she fed you, worked [pg 532] for you, brought up your little ones, and sent you the little she earned, even though you had cast her off.”
“It is cruel, Holcombe, to remind me of that,” said Cristalar reproachfully. “Perhaps as your wife I may see her—as the wife of my benefactor, not as my daughter.”
“I want to take her from your hands. And think how she has wearied for you all this time!”
“I know—and do you think I have not missed her? I have only half lived since she left me; and I love her beyond description even yet, but that is an unhallowed love.”
“Say, rather, an unnatural delusion; I mean your refusal to see her. You will, for my sake, for your son-in-law's sake?”
“Leave me now, Henry, I must think.”
Need we tell the end? How his better nature triumphed; how prosperity had softened his heart, and gratitude had bent his pride; how at last his father's love could stand no longer the knowledge of his child's great sorrow; and how Henry's prophecy that Maheleth should see her father on the eve of her marriage was anticipated by many weeks? Her sisters and Señor Cristalar accompanied her to the cathedral, and, after the ceremony, the banker put into the hands of the officiating priest a check for $10,000 for the Catholic poor of Frankfort.
Holcombe House was made ready soon after for the bride's reception, and Señor Cristalar established a branch bank in London, of which his son-in-law was partner and responsible head. In a very few years, the Holcombe income was the same it had been before the appalling drain the agents had spoken of, when the young possessor had drawn the £100,000 of ready money left him by his father, and added to it an equal sum raised on the estate.