And when Arthur offered to marry you without a shilling,
because he wouldn't rob my boy, you left him, and you took poor Harry.
Have nothing to do with her, Harry. You're good, you are. Don't marry
that--that convict's daughter. Come away, Frank, my darling; come to
your poor old mother. We'll hide ourselves; but we're honest, yes, we
are honest."
All this while a strange feeling of exultation had taken possession of
Blanche's mind. That month with poor Harry had been a weary month to
her. All his fortune and splendor scarcely sufficed to make the idea
of himself supportable. She was weaned of his simple ways, and sick of
coaxing and cajoling him.
"Stay, mamma; stay, madam!" she cried out with a gesture, which was
always appropriate, though rather theatrical; "I have no heart? have
I? I keep the secret of my mother's shame. I give up my rights to my
half-brother and my bastard brother--yes, my rights and my fortune. I
don't betray my father, and for this I have no heart.
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