Charles, who, in his legal seclusion, far from all temptation and the frivolities of the world, knew comparatively nothing of what was passing within the sphere of the good old dame’s respectable hotel, was much surprised at the altered language in which Miss Clara now addressed him, and could not divine the causes therefore.
Clara’s notes, which formerly were full of hope, love, fidelity, and all the tender and most interesting passions, now pictured to him nought but her bleak and blank despair.
She told him she was “lost.”
That all she wished for now in this sublunary world was “a quiet grave,” where, of course, moss-roses, violets, and forget-me-nots might bloom.
But of aught else she had neither hopes nor expectations.
She told him, moreover, that her heart was broken, and intimated that nought on earth could mend it, or join the dissevered parts anew, &c.
Finally she said his heart was given to another, and that she was left alone to droop and die!
Surprised beyond measure at the change in her style of language, Charley Warbeck chafed exceedingly, and could not understand what had happened to cause a rupture between his “little curly head,” as he jocosely termed her, and himself.
Surely no one could have divined the temporary passion which had inflamed him for the old gaoler’s daughter, he thought; and save this slight indiscretion, his heart had not strayed from the affectionate, unsophisticated Clara!