"This surpasses all belief," said Marchdale.
"It is the frenzy of grief," added George; "but I did not expect it of her. Flora—Flora, think again."
"Think—think—the rush of thought distracts. Whence came these letters?—where did you find these most disgraceful forgeries?"
"Forgeries!" exclaimed Henry; and he staggered back, as if someone had struck him a blow.
"Yes, forgeries!" screamed Flora. "What has become of Charles Holland? Has he been murdered by some secret enemy, and then these most vile fabrications made up in his name? Oh, Charles, Charles, are you lost to me for ever?"
"Good God!" said Henry; "I did not think of that"
"Madness!—madness!" cried Marchdale.
"Hold!" shouted the admiral. "Let me speak to her."
He pushed every one aside, and advanced to Flora. He seized both her hands in his own, and in a tone of voice that was struggling with feeling, he cried,—
"Look at me, my dear; I'm an old man old enough to be your grandfather, so you needn't mind looking me steadily in the face. Look at me, I want to ask you a question."