“Ah, I have tried every thing,” said he; and even in this moment her very touch darted through him like a flash of delight.  “I have implored him with tears in my eyes to accept the little I possess, to allow me the sacred right of a son.  But he refused me.  He will not, he says, allow a stranger to sacrifice himself for his sake.  He calls me a stranger!  I know that my fortune cannot save him, but it may delay his fall, or at least cancel a portion of his debt, and he refuses me.  He says that if I were his son, he would consent to what he now denies me.  Elise,” he continued, putting aside, in the pressure of the moment, all consideration and all hesitation, “I have asked him for your hand, my sister, that I may in reality become his son.  I know that you do not love, but you might esteem me; for the love I bear your father, you might, as a sacrifice to your duty as a daughter, accept my hand and become my bride.”

He ceased, and looked anxiously and timidly at the young girl, who sat blushing and trembling by his side.  She felt that she owed him an answer; and as she raised her eyes to him, and looked into his noble, faithful face, which had never changed, never altered—­as she thought that Bertram had always loved her with the same fidelity, the same self-sacrifice—­with a love which desired nothing, wished for nothing but her happiness and contentment, she was deeply moved; and, for the first time, she felt real and painful remorse.  Freely and gracefully she offered him her hand.

“Bertram,” she said, “of all the men whom I know, you are the most noble!  As my soul honors you, so would my heart love you, if it were mine.”

Bertram bent over her hand and kissed it; but as he looked at her, his eye accidentally caught sight of the sparkling jewels which adorned her arms and neck, and aware for the first time of her unusually brilliant toilet, he asked in surprise the occasion for it.

“Oh, do not look at it,” cried Elise; “tell me about my father.  What did he answer you when you asked him for my hand?”

“That he would never accept such a sacrifice from his daughter, even to save himself from death.”

“And is his fall unavoidable?” asked Elise thoughtfully.

“I almost fear it is.  This morning already reports to that effect were current in the town, and your father himself told me that if Russia insisted on payment, he was lost irretrievably.  Judge, then, of my horror, when I have just received from a friend in St. Petersburg the certain intelligence that the empress has already sent a special envoy to settle this business with the most stringent measures.  This half a million must be of great importance to the empress, when, for the purpose of collecting it, she sends her well-known favorite, Prince Stratimojeff!”

Elise started from her seat in horror, and stared at Bertram.  “Whom did she send?”

“Her favorite, Stratimojeff,” repeated Bertram, calmly.