CHAPTER VI.
"ENGLISH!" said Sir Charles. "Then tell me, how did I come here? Where
am I?"
"You had a fit, and the doctor ordered you to be kept quiet; and I am
here to nurse you."
"A fit! Ay, I remember. That vile woman!"
"Don't think of her: give your mind to getting well: remember, there is
somebody who would break her heart if you--"
"Oh, my poor Bella! my sweet, timid, modest, loving Bella!" He was so
weakened that he cried like a child.
Miss Somerset rose, and laid her forehead sadly upon the window-sill.
"Why do I cry for her, like a great baby?" muttered Sir Charles. "She
wouldn't cry for me. She has cast me off in a moment."
"Not she. It is her father's doing. Have a little patience. The whole
thing shall be explained to them; and then she will soon soften the old
man. 'It is not as if you were really to blame."
"No more I was. It is all that vile woman."
"Oh, don't! She is so sorry; she has taken it all to heart. She had
once shammed a fit, on the very place; and when you had a real fit
there--on the very spot--oh, it was so fearful--and lay like one dead,
she saw God's finger, and it touched her hard heart. Don't say anything
more against her just now. She is trying so hard to be good. And,
besides, it is all a mistake: she never told that old admiral; she
never breathed a word out of her own house.
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