him to keep from his partner this plan of emigration,--but he
endeavoured to make Parker believe that the thing, if done at all,
was not to be done till all his affairs were settled,--or in other
words all his embarrassments cleared by downright money payments, and
that Mr. Wharton was to make these payments on the condition that he
thus expatriated himself. But Mr. Wharton had made no such promise.
Though the threatened day came nearer and nearer he could not bring
himself to purchase a short respite for his daughter by paying money
to a scoundrel,--which payment he felt sure would be of no permanent
service. During all this time Mr. Wharton was very wretched. If he
could have freed his daughter from her marriage by half his fortune
he would have done it without a second thought. If he could have
assuredly purchased the permanent absence of her husband, he would
have done it at a large price. But let him pay what he would,
he could see his way to no security. From day to day he became
more strongly convinced of the rascality of this man who was his
son-in-law, and who was still an inmate in his own house. Of course
he had accusations enough to make within his own breast against his
daughter, who, when the choice was open to her, would not take the
altogether fitting husband provided for her, but had declared herself
to be broken-hearted for ever unless she were allowed to throw
herself away upon this wretched creature. But he blamed himself
almost as much as he did her. Why had he allowed himself to be so
enervated by her prayers at last as to surrender everything,--as he
had done? How could he presume to think that he should be allowed to
escape, when he had done so little to prevent this misery?

He spoke to Emily about it,--not often indeed, but with great
earnestness. "I have done it myself," she said, "and I will bear it."

"Tell him you cannot go till you know to what home you are going."

"That is for him to consider. I have begged him to let me remain, and
I can say no more. If he chooses to take me, I shall go."

Then he spoke to her about money. "Of course I have money," he said.
"Of course I have enough both for you and Everett. If I could do any
good by giving it to him, he should have it."

"Papa," she answered, "I will never again ask you to give him a
single penny. That must be altogether between you and him. He is what
they call a speculator. Money is not safe with him."

"I shall have to send it