"What need I care,
after all? my resolution should be above it," he says, thrusting his
right hand into his breast pocket, and drawing out a folded paper,
which he throws upon the little table, and says, "There, Franconia,
my child! that contains the climax of my unlamented misfortunes;
read it: it will show you where my next abode will be-I may be at
peace there; and there is consolation at being at peace, even in a
cell." He passes the paper into her hand.
With an expression of surprise she opens it, and glances over its
contents; then reads it word by word. "Do they expect to get
something from nothing?" she says, sarcastically. "It is one of
those soothsayers so valuable to men whose feelings are only with
money-to men who forget they cannot carry money to the graves; and
that no tribute is demanded on either road leading to the last abode
of man."
"Stop there, my child! stop!" interrupts Marston. "I have given them
all, 'tis true; but suspicion is my persecutor-suspicion, and trying
to be a father to my own children!"
"It is, indeed, a misfortune to be a father under such
circumstances, in such an atmosphere!" the good woman exclaims,
clasping her hands and looking upward, as if imploring the
forgiveness of Heaven. Tremblingly she held the paper in her hand,
until it fell upon the floor, as she, overcome, swooned in her
uncle's arms.
She swooned! yes, she swooned. That friend upon whom her affections
had been concentrated was a prisoner.
Pages:
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523