"Aye, aye—Lionel! But afterwards, how am I to live? He will not like—no man would like—to have to maintain a wife's father, and that man a defaulter too. You should think of that, Ella."
"I do! I will never ask him."
"Then who is to maintain me? I tell you, I shall never manage to do it myself."
"I will."
"My poor child!" he cried—one short touch of nature had reached him at last—"what are you talking of?"
"I hope, and believe, that I shall be able to do it."
"I stood with my household gods shattered around me," is the energetic expression of that erring man, who had brought the fell catastrophe upon himself.
And so stood Ella now—in the centre of her own sitting-room, like some noble figure of ruin and despair; yet with a light, the light divine, kindling in an eye cast upward.
Yes! all her household gods—all the idols she had too dearly loved and cherished, were shattered around her, and she felt that she stood alone, to confront the dreadful fate which had involved all she loved.
What a spectacle presented itself to her imagination, as drearily she looked round! On one side, defaced and disfigured, soiled, degraded, was the once beautiful and animated figure of her father,—the man so brilliant, and to her so splendid a specimen of what human nature, in the full affluence of nature's finest gifts, might be. Upon another side her lover!—her husband! who was to have been her heart's best treasure! who never was to be hers now. No! upon that her high spirit had at once resolved; never. Impoverished and degraded, as she felt herself to be, never would she be Lionel's wife. The name which would, in a few hours' time, be blackened by irremediable dishonor, should never be linked to his. One swell of tender feeling, and it was over! All that is wrong, and all that is right, in woman's pride, had risen in arms at once against this.