His fortunes were desperate. Through the mother's love for the
daughter whom she had mourned so long, whom, as he believed he had
it in his power to restore to her, he hoped to obtain her consent to
a marriage, which would retrieve his fortunes, and gratify his
ambition.
Mrs. Clifton seated herself quietly. She did not, as usual, offer
him her hand. Full of his own plans, he did not notice this
omission.
"How long is it since Ida was lost?" inquired Somerville.
Mrs. Clifton started in some surprise. She had not expected him to
introduce this subject.
"Eight years," she said.
"And you believe she yet lives?"
"Yes, I am certain of it."
John Somerville did not understand her aright. He felt only that a
mother never gives up hope.
"Yet it is a long time," he said.
"It is--a long time to suffer," she said. "How could any one have
the heart to work me this great injury? For eight years I have led a
sad and solitary life,--years that might have been made glad by
Ida's presence."
There was something in her tone which puzzled John Somerville, but
he was far enough from suspecting the truth.
"Rose," he said, after a pause. "Do you love your child well enough
to make a sacrifice for the sake of recovering her?"
"What sacrifice?" she asked, fixing her eyes upon him.
"A sacrifice of your feelings.
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