A Simpleton | Page 8

out of window.
You are no more fit to be a nun than--a pauper."
Not having foreseen this facer, Rosa had nothing ready; so she received
it with a sad, submissive, helpless sigh, as who would say, "Hit me,
papa: I have no friend now." So then he was sorry he had been so
clever; and, indeed, there is one provoking thing about "a woman's

weakness"--it is invincible.
The next minute, what should come but a long letter from Dr. Staines,
detailing his endeavors to purchase a practice in London, and his
ill-success. The letter spoke the language of love and hope; but the facts
were discouraging; and, indeed, a touching sadness pierced through the
veil of the brave words.
Rosa read it again and again, and cried over it before her father, to
encourage him in his heartless behavior.
About ten days after this, something occurred that altered her mood.
She became grave and thoughtful, but no longer lugubrious. She
seemed desirous to atone to her father for having disturbed his
cheerfulness. She smiled affectionately on him, and often sat on a stool
at his knee, and glided her hand into his.
He was not a little pleased, and said to himself, "She is coming round to
common-sense."
Now, on the contrary, she was farther from it than ever.
At last he got the clew. One afternoon he met Mr. Wyman coming out
of the villa. Mr. Wyman was the consulting surgeon of that part.
"What! anybody ill?" said Mr. Lusignan. "One of the servants?"
"No; it is Miss Lusignan."
"Why, what is the matter with her?"
Wyman hesitated. "Oh, nothing very alarming. Would you mind asking
her?"
"Why?"
"The fact is, she requested me not to tell you: made me promise."
"And I insist upon your telling me."
"And I think you are quite right, sir, as her father. Well, she is troubled
with a little spitting of blood."
Mr. Lusignan turned pale. "My child! spitting of blood! God forbid!"
"Oh, do not alarm yourself. It is nothing serious."
"Don't tell me!" said the father. "It is always serious. And she kept this
from me!"
Masking his agitation for the time, he inquired how often it had
occurred, this grave symptom.
"Three or four times this last month. But I may as well tell you at once:
I have examined her carefully, and I do not think it is from the lungs."
"From the throat, then?"

"No; from the liver. Everything points to that organ as the seat of
derangement: not that there is any lesion; only a tendency to congestion.
I am treating her accordingly, and have no doubt of the result."
"Who is the ablest physician hereabouts?" asked Lusignan, abruptly.
"Dr. Snell, I think."
"Give me his address."
"I'll write to him, if you like, and appoint a consultation." He added,
with vast but rather sudden alacrity, "It will be a great satisfaction to
my own mind."
"Then send to him, if you please, and let him be here to-morrow
morning; if not, I shall take her to London for advice at once."
On this understanding they parted, and Lusignan went at once to his
daughter. "O my child!" said he, deeply distressed, "how could you
hide this from me?"
"Hide what, papa?" said the girl, looking the picture of
unconsciousness.
"That you have been spitting blood."
"Who told you that?" said she, sharply.
"Wyman. He is attending you."
Rosa colored with anger. "Chatterbox! He promised me faithfully not
to."
"But why, in Heaven's name? What! would you trust this terrible thing
to a stranger, and hide it from your poor father?"
"Yes," replied Rosa, quietly.
The old man would not scold her now; he only said, sadly, "I see how it
is: because I will not let you marry poverty, you think I do not love
you." And he sighed.
"O papa! the idea!" said Rosa. "Of course, I know you love me. It was
not that, you dear, darling, foolish papa. There! if you must know, it
was because I did not want you to be distressed. I thought I might get
better with a little physic; and, if not, why, then I thought, 'Papa is an
old man; la! I dare say I shall last his time;' and so, why should I poison
your latter days with worrying about ME?"
Mr. Lusignan stared at her, and his lip quivered; but he thought the trait
hardly consistent with her superficial character. He could not help
saying, half sadly, half bitterly, "Well, but of course you have told Dr.
Staines."

Rosa opened her beautiful eyes, like two suns. "Of course I have done
nothing of the sort. He has enough to trouble him, without that. Poor
fellow! there he is, worrying and striving to make his fortune, and