"I can tell him a fine tale
of a loyal daughter."
"O, I do not think I will be a loyal girl, at all events," she
cried, with a great deal of painfulness in the expression. "I do
not think my heart is true."
"Yet there are very few that would have made that leap, and all to
obey a father's orders," I observed.
"I cannot have you to be thinking of me so," she cried again.
"When you had done that same, how would I stop behind? And at all
events that was not all the reasons." Whereupon, with a burning
face, she told me the plain truth upon her poverty.
"Good guide us!" cried I, "what kind of daft-like proceeding is
this, to let yourself be launched on the continent of Europe with
an empty purse--I count it hardly decent--scant decent!" I cried.
"You forget James More, my father, is a poor gentleman," said she.
"He is a hunted exile."
"But I think not all your friends are hunted exiles," I exclaimed.
"And was this fair to them that care for you? Was it fair to me?
was it fair to Miss Grant that counselled you to go, and would be
driven fair horn-mad if she could hear of it? Was it even fair to
these Gregory folk that you were living with, and used you
lovingly? It's a blessing you have fallen in my hands! Suppose
your father hindered by an accident, what would become of you here,
and you your lee-lone in a strange place? The thought of the thing
frightens me," I said.
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