And now, though she did not at all understand what might be the
nature of those troubles, though she had derived no information
whatever from her husband's hints about the South American trade,
though she was as ignorant as ever of his affairs, yet she felt that
the troubles would come soon. But never for a moment did it seem to
her that he had been unjust in bringing her into troubled waters.
They had loved each other, and therefore, whatever might be the
troubles, it was right that they should marry each other. There was
not a spark of anger against him in her bosom;--but she was unhappy.

He demanded from her the writing of the letter almost immediately
after the conversation which has been given above, and of course the
letter was written,--written and recopied, for the paragraph about
the money was, of course, at last of his wording. And she could not
make the remainder of the letter pleasant. The feeling that she was
making a demand for money on her father ran through it all. But the
reader need only see the passage in which Ferdinand Lopez made his
demand,--through her hand.

"Ferdinand has been speaking to me about my fortune." It had gone
much against the grain with her to write these words, "my fortune."
"But I have no fortune," she said. He insisted however, explaining
to her that she was entitled to use these words by her father's
undoubted wealth. And so, with an aching heart, she wrote them.
"Ferdinand has been speaking to me about my fortune. Of course, I
told him that I knew nothing, and that as he had never spoken to
me about money before our marriage, I had never asked about it. He
says that it would be of great service to him to know what are your
intentions; and also that he hopes you may find it convenient to
allow him to draw upon you for some portion of it at present. He says
that L3000 would be of great use to him in his business." That was
the paragraph, and the work of writing it was so distasteful to her
that she could hardly bring herself to form the letters. It seemed
as though she were seizing the advantage of the first moment of her
freedom to take a violent liberty with her father.

"It is altogether his own fault, my pet," he said to her. "I have the
greatest respect in the world for your father, but he has allowed
himself to fall into the habit of keeping all his affairs secret from
his children; and, of course, as they go out into the world, this
secrecy must in some degree be invad