‘No.’
‘Then just take that letter to her, and ask her to read it.’
Mrs Yule ascended to her daughter’s bedroom. She knocked, was bidden enter, and found Marian packing clothes in a trunk. The girl looked as if she had been up all night; her eyes bore the traces of much weeping.
‘He has come back, dear,’ said Mrs Yule, in the low voice of apprehension, ‘and he says you are to read this letter.’
Marian took the sheet, unfolded it, and read. As soon as she had reached the end she looked wildly at her mother, seemed to endeavour vainly to speak, then fell to the floor in unconsciousness. The mother was only just able to break the violence of her fall. Having snatched a pillow and placed it beneath Marian’s head, she rushed to the door and called loudly for her husband, who in a moment appeared.
‘What is it?’ she cried to him. ‘Look, she has fallen down in a faint. Why are you treating her like this?’
‘Attend to her,’ Yule replied roughly. ‘I suppose you know better than I do what to do when a person faints.’
The swoon lasted for several minutes.
‘What’s in the letter?’ asked Mrs Yule whilst chafing the lifeless hands.
‘Her money’s lost. The people who were to pay it have just failed.’