"She is unaware of my sad complicity in the dreadful business," replied Mr. Torrens sternly. "But pray repeat to me the whole conversation which took place between Mrs. Slingsby and yourself, and which she unfortunately overheard. I shall then be enabled to judge whether reflection on that discourse may lead her to imagine that her own father was indeed a party to her ruin; for I must confess that I have terrible fears lest she should indeed imbibe such a suspicion."
"Give me a tumbler of wine, Torrens," said the baronet, throwing himself upon the sofa which had so lately been pressed by his victim when in a state of insensibility: "I am regularly exhausted, for I have walked all the way hither;—and, when I have a little recovered myself, I will detail all the conversation which took place between me and Mrs. Slingsby, as nearly as I shall be able to recollect it."
Mr. Torrens produced a bottle of wine from the side-board, he having already emptied the decanter upon the table.
"Help yourself, Sir Henry," he said: "and in the meantime I will steal cautiously up stairs and see if Rosamond be yet retired to rest—for I would not for worlds have her come down and find you here."
"A wise precaution," observed the baronet.
Mr. Torrens accordingly quitted the parlour, and hastened up stairs. He stopped at the door of his daughter's chamber, and listened. Profound sobs and impassioned ejaculations, indicative of terrible grief, met his ears; and he grew alarmed lest she should feel herself so thoroughly wretched and lonely as to be unable to sleep, and perhaps return to the parlour.
He accordingly knocked gently at the door, and Rosamond speedily opened it.
She had not as yet divested herself of a particle of her clothing, nor made any preparation to retire to rest; and her countenance was so truly woebegone—so thoroughly the picture of a deeply-seated grief, that even her iron-hearted father was affected to tears. She threw her arms around his neck, and thanked him for his kind solicitude. He remained with her nearly half-an-hour, exerting all his power of language to console her; and the anxiety which he experienced to induce her to seek her couch, so that he might return to the parlour and get rid of Sir Henry Courtenay as soon as possible, rendered him so eloquent and so effective in the (to him) novel art of administering solace, that he succeeded fully.
"Now I am convinced that you do not loathe, despise, and hate your daughter," said Rosamond at length; "and this impression has removed an immense weight from my mind. Though true happiness may never more be mine, yet shall I find a substitute in Christian resignation to my fate; and henceforth, dear father, I will not make you unhappy by compelling you to act the part of a comforter. And now, good night, my only friend—my beloved parent; and fear not that I shall give way again to that violent outpouring of grief in which you so kindly interrupted me."
Mr. Torrens embraced his daughter, and a pang shot to his heart as he thought of his infernal conduct towards that good and affectionate girl!