A few days after the incidents recorded in the last chapter, Mrs. Georgia Clifton entered Zuleime’s room. The poor girl was sitting in an arm-chair near the window, idle, as was never her habit before, with her hands lying languidly one over the other, and her eyes fixed upon vacancy. The beauty went to her with her soft, winning way, and took her hand, and stole her arm over her shoulder, and said, tenderly— “Zuleime, my love, do not sit here by this open window. Let me close it, and lead you to the sofa.” There is nothing so quiet as despair, except death. There is nothing so docile as despair often is. The beauty knew this by a satanic inspiration, and calculated on it. Zuleime suffered herself to be led to the sofa, which was wheeled up near the fire, as she would have permitted herself to be led any where else. Georgia sat down by her side, and passed her arm around her waist, and said— “My dear, I think you love your old father—do you not?” The poor girl raised her eyes mournfully to the lady’s face, as if she did not understand. “You love your father. You would not be willing to see him ruined in fortune, and degraded in honor, would you?” Still Zuleime kept her eyes fixed upon the speaker, with an expression of hopeless imbecility. “My dear child, let me be explicit. And try to understand me, Zuleime. It is of vital necessity to your father that you should. Will you listen to me, Zuleime?” “Yes,” said the mourner, mechanically, without removing her gaze. “Well, then, you know your grandmother left you thirty thousand dollars? Well. Your father owes debts amounting to twenty-five thousand dollars, and is in danger of an execution or a prison, every day! You would willingly give him your fortune to pay his debts with, we know. But, unfortunately, you cannot do it, because you are not of age. Neither can your father appropriate it, of course. But if you were to marry, then your husband would be in legal possession of that property, and could dispose of it. Now, Major Cabell has bought up your father’s notes to the amount of eighteen thousand dollars, using all his available funds, for the purpose of saving him from great distress, and in the expectation of marrying _you_, his daughter, and obtaining your little fortune, which would replenish his coffers again. Now, Zuleime, Major Cabell is himself pressed for money. He would not, of course, come down upon your father with an execution, but he will be compelled to sell those notes again for whatever he can get for them. And then of course the purchaser—some Jew or broker, would have no such scruples, but would levy on all the personal property of his debtor, and most likely throw him into prison, where he might languish for years—where he might die! Zuleime! you will not suffer this, if you can prevent it, will you? Speak to me, my love! I do not believe you understand me now! Why don’t you answer me, Zuleime?”