“’Tis not absolutely necessary you should love him,” replied Foxwell, dryly. “Oh, no, no!” cried Georgiana, as her imagination fully mastered the case. “I cannot! ’Twould be like—’twould be horrible!” “’Twould be saving your Everell’s life,” said Foxwell, dispassionately. “’Tis an excellent match, dear,” put in Lady Strange, softly, “if Mr. Thornby’s estate is what I take it to be.” “Oh, but, Lady Strange,—you are a woman—_you_ should understand.” “I do, child,” replied the elder lady, with an inward sigh, “but—these matters reconcile themselves in time. ’Twill not be so intolerable, believe me. And who knows—” Whatever it was that who knew, Lady Strange abruptly broke off to another line of thought. “The point is, to save your lover’s life, my dear.” “Ay,” said Foxwell, beginning to show impatience, “ere the opportunity is gone. Now lookye, Georgiana, I must hear your answer without more ado. I am going to have a horse saddled at once. It shall carry either your acceptance to Mr. Thornby, or word of this rebel to those who will not be slow in securing him. ’Tis for you to say which, and before many minutes.” Instead of calling a servant, Foxwell went out to the hall to give the order, consigning Georgiana by a look to the persuasions of Lady Strange. “Come, my dear,” said that lady, bending kindly over Georgiana, who had sunk weeping into a chair by the table; “’tis but marrying him you love not, for the sake of him you love.” “’Tis being false to him I love,” sobbed the girl. “False to him, but to save his life—a loyal kind of falseness, poor child!” She continued in this strain, though with no apparent effect upon Georgiana, who presently flung her arms upon the table and, bowing her head upon them, shook with weeping. In this attitude her uncle found her when he returned from ordering the horse. “Nay, persuade her no more, Lady Strange,” said he, testily. “God’s name, miss!—be true to your lover, if you think it so, and send him to die for your truth. I am going now to write a line for my messenger to carry. It might have been a line to Thornby, accompanied by a few words of your own inditing. But, as it cannot be so, it must be to those who want news of the rebel.” With that, Foxwell was about to go to the drawing-room. “No, no!” exclaimed Georgiana, rising to stop him. “I will consent—I will save the rebel. False to him, for love of him!—he will understand.” “Nay, but he is not to understand,” objected Foxwell. “He is to know nothing of this. Do you not see, he might rather give himself up than have you marry another?—might refuse to be saved by such means. For his own sake, he mustn’t know the condition. You had best not see him again: leave me to dismiss him. I make no doubt he will accept his liberty now for your sake, and agree to the voiding of our compact, whereof he has had near the full benefit. Best not see him: you might betray all.” “Not see him!” wept Georgiana.