A hundred conjectures darted through her mind, but intuitively she knew the actual fact, his trust had been betrayed. “It’s that man—the note you endorsed?” she said.
“Yes,” he replied simply, “that and the unfortunate investments I made in New York. They turned out badly two months ago; I did not tell you, Rose, but I was swindled. This morning the note came due and Erkhardt has disappeared.”
“Oh, the villain!” Rose exclaimed hotly, “and you so kind. Father, can’t it be delayed—warded off? Surely something can be done—must you lose all that too?”
He roused himself with an effort from the cloud which seemed to be enfolding him, shutting down on his stupefied senses. “I shall have to pay the whole obligation; it can’t be honorably delayed,” he said; “it will sweep away my whole principal, Rose, and leave me nothing but my salary.”
“But we can live on that,” she exclaimed eagerly, her face brightening, “we can easily live on that, father; you’ll see how famously I can manage!”
The judge looked at her with a pitiful tightening of the lines about his mouth, his eyes filled with unshed tears; her ignorance seemed to him the sweetest, the most helpless thing in the world. “But when I die, Rose,” he said hoarsely, “and I may die soon—” he rose and walked to and fro before the open window where the soft twilight was falling. He was suddenly bowed with years, shrunken, haggard. “My God, child, there will be nothing for you!” he broke out at last.
She went to him then, throwing her young arms around his neck and staying him in his walk. He looked at her, bewildered, and she laid her soft cheek against his in a mute caress. “It doesn’t matter, father!” she whispered; “don’t think of me, don’t add that to your burden.”
The old man groaned. “My child,” he exclaimed, his voice quavering with grief, “my poor child, I can never forgive myself!”
Tears of sympathy filled her eyes, but she smiled bravely. “Why, father, we have so much—here is the house, the—”
“It’s mortgaged,” he said, and sank heavily into his chair.