Upon Flora’s return, she, assisted by Vivian, applied some ammoniacal salts to her father’s nostrils, and bathed his temples with eau-de-cologne and water. In a short time the application proved successful; Wilton recovered sufficiently to gaze vacantly around him and utter a few incoherent remarks.
Flora twined her arms about his neck, and, with fond words and soothing tenderness, succeeded in calming down the violent perturbation which succeeded the recovery from his swoon.
Then he gazed, almost wildly, round him in search of the actors in the scene which had perfectly electrified and overwhelmed him.
They were gone.
The old man gave an involuntary groan, accompanied by a sudden shudder, then he asked—
“Where is Nathan Gomer?”
“Mark has just quitted the library to seek an interview with him,” replied Flora. “He will return with him, I have no doubt.”
“No, no,” said Wilton, soliloquizing. “He will come back no more—no more! From afar he will contemplate the destruction of hopes he assisted to raise, only the more completely to hurl them to the dust.”
“Dear sir!” exclaimed Flora, softly, “you have been startled and shocked by what has happened. Mr. Gomer, though strange in his manner, is at heart generous and noble; you wrong him, if you imagine he entertains any hostile feelings towards you.”
“How, can you tell?” inquired her father, sharply. “You know not who he is; you cannot, more than myself, even conjecture what influences have animated him in appearing as my friend, and acting as—as——”