may prevail, if not with me, with my family, some of whom
are to be feared."

He seemed to have no curiosity on that subject, only saying:

"It is you, dear child, I am thinking of--whether this haste will not be
repented, or become a subject of reproach to yourself. To me it cannot
be, having no world, no tribe--only myself and you!"

Vesta came forward and lifted his hand, which was cold.

"I believe that you love me," she said. "I believe this hand has the
lines of a gentleman. Now, I will trust to you a family confidence. The
troubles of this house are like a fire which there is no other way of
treating than to put it out at once. My father will not be disturbed,
beyond his secret pain, at the step I am to take, for he appreciates
your talents and success. It is for him I shall take this step, if I
take it at all, and I have yet an hour to reflect. But my mother will be
resentful, and her brothers and kindred in Baltimore will express a
savage rage, in the first place, at my father's losing her portion; next
to that, and I hope less bitterly, they will resent my marriage to you.
Exposed to their interference, I might be restrained from going to my
father's assistance; they might even force me away, and break our family
up, leaving father alone to encounter his miseries."

"I see," said Milburn; "you would give me the legal right to meet your
mother's excited people."

"Not that merely," Vesta said; "I would put it out of her power and
theirs to prevent the sacrifice I meditate making. My father's immediate
dread is my mother's upbraiding--that he has risked and lost her money.
It has sent her to bed already, sick and almost violent. I might as well
save the poor gentleman his whole distress, if I am to save him a
part."

"Brave girl!" exclaimed Meshach Milburn, in admiration. "It is true,
then, that blood will tell. You intend to give your mother the money
which has been lost, and silence her complaint before she makes it?"

"Just that, Mr. Milburn, and to say, 'It is my husband's gift, and a
peace-offering from us all.'"

"Is it not your intention, honey," asked the creditor, "to take Mrs.
Custis into your confidence before this marriage?"

She looked at him with the entreaty of one in doubt, who would be
resolved. "Advise me," she said. "I want to do the best for all, and
spare all bitter words, which rankle so long. Is it necessary to tell my
mother?"

"No. You are a free woman. I know your age--tho