She twined her arms about Lotte’s shoulders; she laid her cold wan face upon her own warm bosom.
“Oh Lotte, Lotte, dear, dear Lotte, what has happened?” she murmured, through her streaming tears; “why are are you so dreadfully changed? Confide in me as in a sister—pray, pray do; oh, my heart aches to see you thus; indeed, Lotte, it does; in very truth, it does.”
Why, had Flora been grand, had she played the lady, had she offered to take the case presented to her by Hal at an early moment, and promised to do something, Lotte might have been pierced to the heart—but she would then have stood up bravely and haughtily—have declined the intended favour, though she consigned herself to destitution by the act; but to be caught thus to Flora’s heart—to be embraced—to have poured into her ears expressions of tender sympathy—to feel upon her cheeks the tears of human pity, which had the essence of divine pity—to feel, to be convinced that the tender commiseration which Flora—though unknowing the circumstances—had exhibited for her was sincere—it was all—all!—more than she could bear; she sank at Flora’s feet, embraced her knees, tried to ejaculate her gratefulness, tried to tell that now, indeed, she felt herself lifted out of despair and degradation; but exhausted nature refused to do more, and she fell back upon the carpet in a swoon.
Hal, who had walked to the end of the apartment, half choked in his efforts to repress the tears which would flow into his eyes, now, at a sudden cry from the lips of Flora, rushed forward, and raised Lotte from the ground, while Flora rang the bell, which brought into the apartment her maid—a young, but strong, good looking, and seemingly good-humoured girl.
Flora beckoned to her.
“Help me to bear this young lady into my dressing-room,” she said; “she has fainted; be very gentle and tender in your movements, Mercy, for she is very ill.”
“Poor dear young lady,” said the girl, gazing upon Lotte’s ghastly features. “She do look bad, surely.”
She received her from Hal’s custody, and lifting her up in her arms as if she had been a child, she bore her tenderly to Flora’s chamber, and laid her gently on the bed. As Flora was following, Hal detained her, and in a few brief words, acquainted her with the circumstances which had attended his meeting with Lotte; he left her to obtain the rest from her own surmises, or from any communications Lotte might make, and he took the opportunity of bidding her farewell, promising that he would pay a more formal visit, and make a more protracted stay, within a few days.
“Do not fail,” said Flora with some earnestness, “for my father is very anxious to see you here; he has made many inquiries respecting you, and I—I—do hope you will come soon.”
She need have been under no apprehension that he would stay away. Her beauty was a magnet which would have drawn visitors loving her far less passionately than he.