“Read!” said Morrel.
The young man was overwhelmed as he read. Morrel said not a word. What could he say? What need he add to such a desperate proof in figures?
“And have you done all that is possible, father, to meet this disastrous result?” asked the young man, after a moment’s pause.
“I have,” replied Morrel.
“You have no money coming in on which you can rely?”
“None.”
“You have exhausted every resource?”
“All.”
“And in half an hour,” said Maximilian in a gloomy voice, “our name is dishonored!”
“Blood washes out dishonor,” said Morrel.
“You are right, father; I understand you.” Then extending his hand towards one of the pistols, he said, “There is one for you and one for me—thanks!”
Morrel caught his hand. “Your mother—your sister! Who will support them?”
A shudder ran through the young man’s frame. “Father,” he said, “do you reflect that you are bidding me to live?”