"There, I would have forgotten! It seems to me I am getting old fast—nothing tells on a man like that," said Mr. Verne, smiling and drawing from the pigeon-hole of a small desk a neatly-folded letter.
"My little girl refers to you—listen to this"—and the fond father read a portion of the letter, in which she referred to the young lawyer, and begged that her father would convey her thanks for the very great thoughtfulness of Mr. Lawson in trying to cheer him in her absence and filling up the vacant place beside him.
"Tell him, dear papa, I shall never forget him for it—never."
Mr. Verne was deeply affected as he read the last sentence; also was his visitor.
"My Marguerite, she cares yet for her doting father. Yes, Mr.
Lawson, my child worships those who are kind to me."
"You can never fully express Miss Verne's worth, sir. I am only too happy to do anything that would secure her good wishes, for coming, as they do from one so good, they most certainly result in good."
"The man is honest," thought Phillip Lawson; "he does not wish me to think that his daughter has any other feeling than that of gratitude, and I honor him for it."
The young man glanced around the elegant parlor with its glittering furniture and costly vertu, and felt sad at the thought of the great change that was in store for the delicate girl who had been reared in the lap of luxury. He wished to refer to business, but Mr. Verne evaded him at every turn, and when he rose to go, felt somewhat uneasy and disappointed.
"There is something astir," thought Phillip, as he passed down Mecklenburg street and turned up Carmarthen, on his way home. "There is something in the wind. I can already feel it in my bones," exclaimed the young man, striding along with a rate of velocity equal to that of his thoughts.
A sudden fancy seized him. Quick as lightning it darted through every nerve and electrified him with pain.