The admiral groaned in the spirit, but did not reply. After a few minutes of silence, during which all the other members of the circle looked on in painful suspense, he inquired:
“How came you out wandering alone in this remote country, so far from the scene of your father’s death? Had he no friends to look after his orphan child?”
“Grandfather, it is a very long story; but I will tell you if you would like to hear it.”
“Yes, but sit down; sit down there in the little chair beside Madame Pezzilini. And now go on,” said the admiral, throwing himself into his own elbow-chair.
Annella commenced, and gave a short history of her life in the camp with her father; dwelling on his services in the Crimean war and the Indian insurrection, glancing slightly at the circumstances that drove him to sell his commission, and suppressing altogether the fact of that fatal habit that caused his ruin.
But notwithstanding the delicacy with which she treated her father’s memory, the experienced veteran understood it all.
Annella suppressed also the incident of the pauper funeral; but dwelt fondly upon the benevolence of her landlady, and especially on that of the beautiful, foreign-looking lodger, who had arrived in London only the day before, and who seemed to have so deep a sorrow of her own.
Something in the manner of the girl in describing her lovely benefactress attracted the particular attention of the Princess Pezzilini, who began with much interest to question the young girl.
“When did you say this young lady reached London?”
“On the morning of Wednesday.”