"Ah! that's better," sighs Molly as Honor seizes the poker and stirs the embers into a cheerful blaze; "and now do tell me, Honor dear, what this trouble is, and all about it."
"It is soon told, Molly," says the girl, and seating herself in a low chair opposite her sister she tells her of the dishonesty of their father's partner. Then there is a brief pause, during which Honor, poker still in hand, knocks a "stranger" off the second bar, and Molly drops a slipper. "So now, dear," continues Honor, "you will know what father means when he speaks of ruin; for ruined we are, Molly, as to fortune, though, thank God, father still bears an unstained name and can hold his head as high as ever he did."
That Molly at length grasps the situation is evinced by the way she sits staring at her sister with eyes wide open and full of trouble. She does not speak for a few minutes, but at last she leans forward, and taking Honor's face between her two hands she says slowly and with a little painful sort of gasp, "When you speak of father giving up all he possesses you mean his own fortune, I suppose, all his money, I mean, and perhaps mother's too—eh, Honor?"
"No, dear," says the elder sister gently, and taking one of Molly's hands between her own. "We shall not only lose that, but everything! The houses will be sold, both this and Sunnymeade; all the furniture, pictures, and plate; the horses and carriages; and, in fact, as I said, Molly, everything. Poor father says he must begin life over again, and that we shall all have to help him."
"Poor mother!" says Molly presently, after another pause.
"Ah, poor mother!" repeats Honor, rising and kissing her young sister. "We shall have to take care of her now, dear, and do all we can to prevent her feeling the great change that is coming into all our lives. And now, dear, you must go to bed again; you will feel happier now that you really know the worst, so you must try and not think about it now, but go to sleep."
Having seen Molly comfortably tucked up once more, Honor wanders downstairs, and is just turning into the drawing-room in an aimless sort of way when she meets Miss Denison coming out.
"I was just looking for you, Honor," she says, putting her arm through her pupil's and turning back with her into the room. "Your mother seems so poorly that Doris and Lane have been seeing her to bed; she had one of her hysterical attacks, but she is better now, and I think it will be best to leave her quiet." And Miss Denison sighs as she tries to stir the fire into some little semblance of life. "Your father has sent for Mr. Trent, has he not, dear?"
"Yes, and for Aunt Sophia too," replies Honor, sinking into a chair opposite her governess; "though I don't know exactly what good she can do."
"I don't know about that," says Miss Denison quickly. "Your aunt is a very sensible, clear-sighted woman, and I daresay he thought she would be a comfort to your mother, and that she may be able to explain things better to her than he can."