of the saddest
the heart can feel; for, let the world say what it will, we often give
all our energies to hypocrisy, and throw passion into what we meant to
be mere acting. Well, well, enough of moralizing, now for action. You
will want money for this trip, papa; see if there be enough there." And
she opened her writing-desk, and pushed it towards him.

The Captain took out his double eye-glass, and then, with due
deliberation, proceeded to count over a roll of English notes fresh from
the bank.

"In funds, I see, Loo," said he, smiling.

"It is part of the last three hundred I possess in the world. I drew
it out yesterday, and, as I signed the check, I felt as might a sailor
going over the side as his ship was sinking. Do you know," said she,
hurriedly, "it takes a deal of courage to lead the life I have done."

"No doubt,--no doubt," muttered he, as he went on counting. "Forty-five,
fifty, fifty-five--"

"Take them all, papa; I have no need of them. Before the month ends I
mean to be a millionnaire or 'My Lady.'"

"I hope not the latter, Loo; I hope sincerely not, dearest It would be
a cruel sacrifice, and really for nothing."

"A partnership in an old-established house," said she, with a mocking
laugh, "is always something; but I won't prejudge events, nor throw my
cards on the table till I have lost the game. And _a propos_ to losing
the game, suppose that luck should turn against us,--suppose that we
fail to supply some essential link in this chain of fortune,--suppose
that Trover should change his mind and sell us,--suppose, in short,
anything adverse you please,--what means are remaining to you, papa?
Have you enough to support us in some cheap unfrequented spot at home or
abroad?"

"I could get together about two hundred and forty pounds a year, not
more."

"One could live upon that, could n't one?" asked she.

"Yes, in a fashion. With a number of privations you have never
experienced, self-denial in fifty things you have never known to be
luxuries, with a small house and small habits and small acquaintances,
one could rub through, but no more."

"Oh, how I should like to try it!" cried she, clasping her hands
together. "Oh, what would I not give to pass one year--one entire
year of life--without the ever-present terror of exposure, shame, and
scorn,--to feel that when I lie down to rest at night a knock at the
street door should not throw me into the cold perspiration of ague,
or the coming of th