"Alas!" he put in here. "Your child, your dear Clair!"
"I had no understanding of business, and I relied implicitly upon you. I never questioned, never for a moment doubted."
"Nor I," he murmured. "Am I not a sufferer, like yourself? Does that not prove how confident I was that I was acting for the best? Call me foolish, headstrong, if you will; inflict any penance you please upon me, and I am by your side to bear it."
She shivered inwardly at the insidious tenderness he threw into his voice, but she was at the same time careful to conceal this feeling. She was in his power; her whole future was in his hands, and with it the future of her beloved Clair. She had no other friend; she could not think of another being in the world whom she could ask for help at this critical juncture. It seemed as if the very bread she and her child ate from this day forth might depend upon him who had brought ruin upon them.
"Yes," he continued, "I will not desert you. A single word from your lips, and your misfortune will become a blessing."
"Is nothing left, sir?" she asked. "Have I really lost everything?"
"You are cruel to make me repeat what I have said, what I have endeavored to make clear to you. You have not only lost everything, but are responsible for obligations it is, I am afraid, out of your power to discharge. Mrs. Grantham, will you listen to me?"
"I have listened patiently, sir. Have you any other misfortunes to make clear to me?"
"None, I am thankful to say. You know all; there is nothing to add to the sad news I have been compelled to impart. Think only of yourself and your dear child."
"I am thinking of her, sir."