He has been borrowing from you since my earliest
recollections."
The creditor took from his breast-pocket a large leather wallet, and,
arising, laid its contents on the table. He opened a piece of folded
paper, and drew from it two objects; one a lock of blue-black hair like
his own, and the other a pressed and faded rose.
"This flower," said Milburn, with reverence, "Judge Custis's daughter
fastened in my derided hat. I kept it till it was dead, and laid it away
with my mother's hair, the two religious objects of my life. That faded
rose made me your father's creditor, Miss Custis."
Vesta took the rose, and looked at him with surprise and inquiry.
"Oh, why did not this flower speak for us?" she said; "to open your lips
after that, to save my father? Then you informed yourself, and knew that
he was hurrying to destruction, but still you gave him money at higher
interest."
Milburn looked at her with diminished courage, but sincerity, and
answered: "Your voice sang between us, Miss Custis, every time he came.
I did not admit to myself what it was, but the feeling that I was being
drawn near you still opened my purse to your father, till he has drained
me of the profits of years, which I gave him with a lavish fatality,
though grasping every cent from every source but that. I did know, then,
he could not probably repay me, but every Sabbath at the church you
sang, and that seemed some compensation.
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