“I pray daily—day and night—that the hand of wrath may be stayed. Sitting here, I think all day long. I have forgotten how to read, I think——”
Leonard glanced at the walls. There were a few books.
“Until Mary Anne began to study, there were no books. We were so poor that we had to sell everything, books and all. This room is the only one in the house that is furnished decently. My grand-daughter is my only comfort; she is a good girl, Leonard. She takes after the Galleys to look at, but she’s a Campaigne at heart, and she’s proud, though you wouldn’t think it, because she’s such a short bunch of a figure, not like us. She’s my only comfort. We talk sometimes of going away and living together—she and I—it would be happier for us. My grandson is not—is not—altogether what one would wish. To be sure, he has a dreadful struggle. It’s poverty, poverty, poverty. Oh, Leonard!”—she caught his hand—“pray against poverty. It is poverty which brings out all the bad qualities.”
Leonard interrupted a monologue which seemed likely to go on without end. Besides, he had now grasped the situation.
“I will come again,” he said, “if I may.”
“Oh, if you may! If you only knew what a joy, what a happiness, it is only to look into your face! It is my brother’s face—my father’s face—oh, come again—come again.”
“I will come again, then, and soon. Meantime, remember that I am your nephew—or grand-nephew, which is the same thing. If in any way I can bring some increase to your comforts——”
“No, no, my dear boy. Not that way,” she cried hastily. “I have been poor, but never—in that way. My father, who ought to help me, has done nothing, and if he will not, nobody shall. I would, if I could, have my rights; no woman of our family, except me, but was an heiress. And, besides—he”—she pointed to the front of the house, where was the office of her grandson—“he will take it all himself.”
“Well, then, but if——”
“If I must, I will. Don’t give him money. He is better without it. He will speculate in houses and lose it all. Don’t, Leonard.”