Clara opened the door and went in.
Her uncle sat at the table, with his arms and head upon it, and he did not look up until she touched him and spoke to him.
"I am sorry, uncle dear," she said, "that I was not at home when you wanted me."
He raised his head with a groan.
"It doesn't matter," he responded; "you could have done nothing, as it has happened."
"Didn't you have some news for me, uncle? Tell me; I can endure anything."
He tried to look at her, but a violent fit of trembling seized him and he averted his eyes.
"I thought there was going to be news, good news," he stammered, "but——" and he shook his head sorrowfully.
"Do you mean that you have been disappointed, uncle?"
"Disappointed!" he repeated excitedly; "worse! All is lost, Clara, lost! Oh! that wily Russian!"