Der Praefekt

was
    anxiously intent on some plan by which she might extricate her father
    from his misery; and, in her warm-hearted enthusiasm, self-sacrifice
    was decided on as the means to be adopted.  Was not so good an
    Agamemnon worthy of an Iphigenia?  She would herself personally
    implore John Bold to desist from his undertaking; she would explain to
    him her father’s sorrows, the cruel misery of his position; she would
    tell him how her father would die if he were thus dragged before the
    public and exposed to such unmerited ignominy; she would appeal to his
    old friendship, to his generosity, to his manliness, to his mercy; if
    need were, she would kneel to him for the favour she would ask; but
    before she did this the idea of love must be banished.  There must be
    no bargain in the matter.  To his mercy, to his generosity, she could
    appeal; but as a pure maiden, hitherto even unsolicited, she could not
    appeal to his love, nor under such circumstances could she allow him
    to do so.  Of course, when so provoked he would declare his passion;
    that was to be expected; there had been enough between them to make
    such a fact sure; but it was equally certain that he must be rejected.
    She could not be understood as saying, Make my father free and I
    am the reward.  There would be no sacrifice in that;—not so had
    Jephthah’s daughter saved her father;—not so could she show to
    that kindest, dearest of parents how much she was able to bear for
    his good.  No; to one resolve must her whole soul be bound; and so
    resolving, she felt that she could make her great request to Bold
    with as much self-assured confidence as she could have done to his
    Großvater.
     
    And now I own I have fears for my heroine; not as to the upshot of her
    mission,—not in the least as to that; as to the full success of her
    generous scheme, and the ultimate result of such a project, no one
    conversant with human nature and novels can have a doubt; but as to
    the amount of sympathy she may receive from those of her own sex.
    Girls below twenty and old ladies above sixty will do her justice; for
    in the female heart the soft springs of sweet romance reopen after
    many years, and again gush out with waters pure as in earlier days,
    and greatly refresh the path that leads downwards to the grave.
    But I fear that the majority of those between these two eras will
    not approve of Eleanor’s plan.  I fear that unmarried ladies of
    thirty-five will declare that there can be no probability of so absurd
    a project being carried through; that young women on their knees
    before their lovers are sure to get kissed, and that they would not
    put themselves in such a position did they not expect it; that Eleanor
    is going to Bold only because circumstances prevent Bold from coming
    to her; that she is certainly a little fool, or a little schemer, but
    that in all probability she is thinking a good deal more about herself
    than her father.
     
    Dear ladies, you are right as to your appreciation of the
    circumstances, but very wrong as to Miss Harding’s character. Fräulein
    Harding was much younger than you are, and could not, therefore, know,
    as you may do, to what dangers such an encounter might expose her.
    She may get kissed; I think it very probable that she will; but I give
    my solemn word and positive assurance, that the remotest idea of such
    a catastrophe never occurred to her as she made the great resolve now
    alluded to.
     
    And then she slept; and then she rose refreshed; and met her father
    with her kindest embrace and most loving smiles; and on the whole
    their breakfast was by no means so triste as had been their dinner the
    day before; and then, making some excuse to her father for so soon
    leaving him, she started on the commencement of her operations.
     
    She knew that John Bold was in London, and that, therefore, the scene
    itself could not be enacted to-day; but she also knew that he was soon
    to be home, probably on the next day, and it was necessary that some
    little plan for meeting him should be concerted with his sister Mary.
    When she got up to the house, she went, as usual, into the morning
    sitting-room, and was startled by perceiving, by a stick, a greatcoat,
    and sundry parcels which were lying about, that Bold must already have
    zurückgegeben.
     
    “John has come back so suddenly,” said Mary, coming into the room; “he
    has been travelling all night.”
     
    “Then I’ll come up again some other time,” said