“Aunt Margaret, you must be laboring under some strange mistake,” Florence replied.
“A mistake!” was the vehement retort. “Is it a mistake that you wrote to me yesterday, assuring me that you had not and would not meddle with your legacy? Was it worth while, I ask, to send me this assurance, when you had withdrawn it some days ago? Attempt no further denials, for I have been to the banker, and seen your letter authorizing the withdrawal. Hush! I don’t want to hear any evasions. You have deceived me, and I have done with you forever!”
Before Florence could attempt a reply she had given her one more reproachful look and swept out of the room.
CHAPTER IV.
THE GOVERNESSES.
For some time after Mrs. Blunden’s carriage rolled away from the door, Florence remained like one stupefied. As her aunt’s words resounded in her ears, a terrible suspicion grew upon her that there was truth in the tale, and that the money was actually withdrawn.
She had a hazy recollection of her father coming to her bedside one evening, when her head was wandering, and asking her to sign a paper he held in his hand. She remembered, too, how, when the circumstance recurred to her memory, she had asked him what he had wished her to write. Ah, and it was this that troubled her more, far more, than the loss she had sustained, for, without the slightest hesitation, he had carelessly answered:
“I told you—did I not—that your Aunt Margaret had sent a note of inquiry? If she had not seen your own signature to the reply I have written in your name, we should have had her fussing here to nurse you.”
Florence, weak and wanting quiet, had felt grateful to him at the time for his thoughtful consideration. Could it really be that he had been deceiving her at the moment she kissed and thanked him thus warmly? Had he taken advantage of her helplessness to rob her of the bequest she had guarded so jealously for his sake?
Starting up with an anguished cry, she told herself it could not be true. Her father, a gentleman by birth and of unimpeachable honor, could not be guilty of this paltry deed. No, no—it was impossible; she had been foolish to believe it so readily—she should have demanded further particulars from Mrs. Blunden, and not let her go until she had explained herself. Now nothing remained but to wait until Mr. Heriton came home, and then frankly tell him what she had heard.