Mrs. Dering followed, with a terrible fear at her heart, and was obliged to sit down, so trembling and faint was she; and Beatrice meeting that anguished, imploring look, could not utter a word, but simply put her hand in her pocket, and drew out a worn, faded letter.
Mrs. Dering looked at it for an instant, then uttered a broken cry, and threw out her hands beseechingly.
"Oh, Beatrice! my daughter! Not that, not that, surely!"
"Yes, mama."
Mrs. Dering dropped her face in her hands with a moan that came from the depths of her heart, and overcome with the confirmation of her fears, Bea sank into a chair and burst into tears; and nothing but her sobs were heard for several moments.
Under all circumstances, Mrs. Dering was a woman of wonderful self control; so in a moment she looked up and asked:
"Do you know anything about it?"
"No, mama," answered Bea, then repeated the circumstances in the case, adding, with a look of loving sympathy into the grief-stricken face opposite, "When I went up into the garret this morning, I saw one of your trunks open, and your green silk and white lawn lying on the floor by the little black trunk, which was open also, and the letter was dropped on the floor, and I knew she had been there, and thought perhaps it was something she had left, so I read—only a part of it, and—oh, mama!"
Mrs. Dering vouchsafed no explanation, as Bea paused with a sob; but looked out of the window with a world of puzzled inquiry in her face, and murmured to herself:
"How did it ever come out of the box?"