Old Sir Richard was sick from over anxiety for his protegé, and his consultation-visits with good old Dame Worthington were long and frequent.
“If all the money I possess in the world could rescue the boy, I would freely give it,” was his constant expression.
And, as he sat on the sofa, beside good Dame Worthington, frequently without more light than that of the fire, he would press her hand affectionately, and the old lady would shed tears—yes, tears of bitterness.
“My poor, poor Charles!” the old lady would say.
“The poor lad!” was always the rejoinder.
And thus they sat before the fire, hour after hour, communing with their own thoughts, and recalling again from the vista of the past sunny hours of youth, when love had warmed their hearts, and made them oblivious of consequences.
Clara Haylark was Dame Worthington’s chief comforter, for she was always consulting with the old lady regarding everything that might alleviate the sufferings of “poor Charles,” and that would add to his comfort.
On several occasions Clara became so enthusiastic in regard to Charley that, with her head all shaking with curls, and tears in her eyes, she openly avowed her love for the young man, and averred that “she never would marry in her whole life without it was with him.”
This so much pleased the old lady that she caressed the young woman, and sat with Clara’s head in her lap for more than an hour without uttering a word.
As the Criminal Court trials approached the visits of Sir Richard Warbeck, Dame Worthington and Miss Clara (unknown to her mother) became more frequent.