Much is at stake on thy love for the prince. Awake, Masanath! Thou
dost love him; thou wilt wed him--and it shall go well with--all others
whom thou lovest."
"Wouldst use me for a price, my father--wouldst barter thy daughter for
something?" she asked in a tone low with apprehension.
"Ah, what inelegant words," he chid. "Thou dost miscall my purpose.
Look, my daughter. Have I not served thee with hand and heart all thy
life, asking nothing, sacrificing much? I, for one, have a debt
against thee, and thou canst pay it in thy marriage to Rameses. Dost
thou not love me enough to make me secure with the prince, and so,
secure in mine advisership to the king?"
Masanath arose slowly, as if her movements kept pace with the progress
of her realizations. Thus far she had been a loving and a believing
child. The genial knavishness of her father had never appeared as such
to her. In her sight he was cheery, great and lovable. Most of all
she had flattered herself that he loved her better than life, and that
his nights were sleepless in planning for her happiness. Now, a
terrifying lapse in his care, or a more terrifying display of his real
character, appalled her.
He had placed his demand in the most irresistible form, by calling upon
her dutifulness.
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