“Can you bear to hear the truth,” he asked, “even if it be worse—far worse, perhaps, than you have ever anticipated?”
“Yes,” she faltered; “yes.”
Studiously averting his looks so that he might not distress her by appearing to watch the effect of his words, he said slowly:
“Lieutenant Mason is no longer in London—in fact, he has quitted England. Coming here this morning to take possession of these chambers, which their former tenant vacated yesterday, I accidentally learned that he had left the country, solely, I fear, to avoid the reproaches of the unfortunates who have invested their money in the bankrupt company of which he was secretary. And this rascal, it appears to me, has been bribed to tell spurious tales accounting for his absence, until he is beyond all fear of pursuit.”
Long as Florence had foreboded evil, the shock was hard to bear when it actually came; and, putting out her hand, she tried to grasp at the table for support. The stranger was by her side directly. He placed her in a chair, and fetched her a glass of water. When he came back with it she had covered her pale face with her hands and found relief in tears. Her poor father! How would he bear these tidings?
Ashamed to have given way to her emotions before indifferent persons, Florence silently rejected the water, bowed her thanks, and, drawing her veil more closely over her features, rose to depart; but the gentleman attempted to detain her.
“You are not fit to go alone. This news, which it grieved me to tell, has quite overcome you. Pardon me, but have you no friend I could send for whose presence would be a comfort to you now?”
She shook her head, and made another attempt to pass him.
“Your father?” he said hesitatingly. “Your father?”
Her tears burst forth afresh, and she could no longer control them. With nerves weakened by constant anxiety, and harassed by Mr. Heriton’s incessant calls upon her time and sympathy, she was ill fitted to bear this confirmation of her worst fears.