Flora was no sooner able to quit her room than she applied herself to the task of relieving Lotte of some portion of her labours. She did this with affectionate willingness, for she was desirous that Lotte should, after such continuous confinement to a sick chamber, be enabled to obtain rest, and such personal enjoyment as the beauties and advantages of the place afforded; and by the time Mr. Wilton was prepared to make his first visit down stairs, Flora was sufficiently recovered to resume her place at his side, and take up the position Lotte had so generously and so well filled.
There was quite a little excitement when Mr. Wilton came down for the first time since his attack to his library. Flora’s arm was used by him for support, because Lotte had not made her appearance. The old man was disappointed, and inquired sharply why his “little nurse” was not present. Flora replied that she had not quitted her room yet—that she was unusually late this morning—that she would, after having congratulated him upon his returning to his old place in the house, hasten to her chamber to ascertain the cause of her non-appearance.
“The sooner the better,” said Wilton, drily.
Flora quitted the room; and Mark now offered his father his congratulations upon his having quitted his invalid chamber, and his reappearance in his library.
“Thank you—thank you,” responded his father, quickly; and added, somewhat peevishly, “I miss the congratulations of one who has done so much to restore me to my place here; I quite expected to have had her help to get here, or, at least, her pleasant face to welcome me.”
“She’s a tender, kind-hearted, good girl, sir,” said Mark, trying to curb enthusiasm of tone and manner.
“She’s an angel, sir!” cried Wilton, vehemently. “I repeat it—an angel. There, now, is a young, inestimable creature, who would—but we won’t recur to that now; another time. Well, well, Flo’, where is little nurse?” he cried, as Flora entered the library.
There was a grave expression on her face, and she held in her hand a letter.
Lotte had quitted Harleydale early that morning. Certainly, of the three, none appeared more completely thunderstruck at the circumstance than Mr. Wilton.
“Gone!” he cried; “left us without a word?” He looked fiercely at both son and daughter. “What is the meaning of so extraordinary an occurrence?” he continued. “She must have been, in some way, insulted—outraged—to have departed in so abrupt a manner. Whoever has dared to be guilty of aught which can have compelled her to act thus shall be visited by my most wrathful indignation.”