Charlton went back into the other room really down-hearted, and stood watching the play of Fleda's fingers.
"Is it come to this!" he said at length. "Is it possible that you are obliged to go without such a trifle as the miserable supply of food your fowls want!" "That's a small matter!" said Fleda, speaking lightly though she smothered a sigh. "We have been obliged to do without more than that."
"What is the reason?"
"Why this man Didenhover is a rogue I suspect, and he manages to spirit away all the profits that should come to uncle Rolf's hands--I don't know how. We have lived almost entirely upon the mill for some time."
"And has my father been doing nothing all this while?"
"Nothing on the farm."
"And what of anything else?"
"I don't know," said Fleda, speaking with evident unwillingness. "But surely, Charlton, he knows his own business best. It is not our affair."
"He is mad!" said Charlton, violently striding up and down the floor.
"No," said Fleda with equal gentleness and sadness--"he is only unhappy;--I understand it all--he has had no spirit to take hold of anything ever since we came here."