"There! there!" cried he, "don't torment
yourself, Lucy. I will spare your fanciful delicacy, though you have
no pity on me--on your poor old uncle, whose heart you will break if
you decline this match."
At these words, and the old man's change from anger to sadness, Lucy
looked up in dismay, and the vivid color died, like a retiring wave,
out of her cheek.
"You look surprised, Lucy. What! do you think this will not be a
heartbreaking disappointment to me? If you knew how I have schemed for
it--what I have done and endured to bring it about! To quarter the
arms of Fontaine and Talboys! I put by the 5,000 pounds directly, and
as much more of my own, that you should not go into that noble family
without a proper settlement. It was the dream of my heart; I could
have died contented the next hour. More fool I to care for anybody but
myself. Your selfish people escape these bitter disappointments. Well,
it is a lesson. From this hour I will live for myself and care for
nobody, for nobody cares for me."
These words, uttered with great agitation, and, I believe, with
perfect sincerity, on his own unselfishness and hard fate, were
terrible to Lucy. She wreathed her arms suddenly round him.
"Oh, uncle," she cried, despairingly, "kill me! send me to Heaven!
send me to my mother, but don't stab me with such bitter words;" and
she trembled with an emotion so much more powerful and convulsing than
his, in which temper had a large share, that she once more cowed him.
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