part of the way
outside the grounds, and promised to keep him informed of the state
of his father's health. He gave me his address, as I was to write
to him under the name of Richard Smithson, and he then parted from
me with the most passionate expressions of gratitude for the little
kindnesses I had been able to show him.

CHAPTER XXX.

The General escaped for this time, but his recovery was slow. He was
weak, and both his arms and legs seemed as if they were paralyzed. I
allowed myself to be easily persuaded to prolong my stay at the Werve,
and I was able to render Francis many little services. One of us two
had to be constantly at the side of the convalescent, for Rolf had
better intentions than judgment. He let the General have just what
he asked for, and would soon have brought on a relapse if we had not
watched them both. Francis was very thankful to have me with her; and
yet she could not be satisfied that it was possible for me to spare
so much time from all my business. She little suspected that my most
pressing and agreeable occupation was to remain at her side and win
her affections. Her devotion to her grandfather was sublime; she forgot
all the wrongs he had done her, and only reproached herself for having
caused him pain by her plain speaking. Notwithstanding, as the old
man gradually grew better, she was soon again convinced that a certain
amount of firmness was absolutely necessary to manage him. During his
illness he had requested me, in his first lucid moments, to receive
and open all his letters. And in this way I became aware that he
was engaged in "risky" speculations, and that he was making debts
unknown to Francis. When he was well enough to talk on such a subject,
I ventured to remonstrate with him, and to point out the consequences
of persisting in such a course, both for himself and for Francis. He
promised me he would give up all such speculations, and excused the
past on the grounds that he wished to leave Francis something when he
died. I was to make the best conditions I could for him in the sale
of the Werve. It was time. Overberg consented to wait; but Van Beek,
the executor of the will, a man as inflexible as the law itself, had
lost all patience. And I was not yet sure of Francis. Weakness on my
part, you will say; but no, it was delicacy--it was the fear of having
to cut short my stay. I was afraid of the obstinacy of Francis--that
she would not consent to a marriage e