“Ah, true, so he did; and where was I dear—what room was I in. Sickness has destroyed my memory so entirely that I cannot remember any thing.”
“I left you in the breakfast-room reading, and when I came back, you were in this room lying down.”
“Yes, I remember now, I felt what I thought were premonitory symptoms of spasms, and hastened to lie down. But no doubt I put the notes by first, though where I don’t recollect. Go, dear, and look in my desk. You will probably find them in the large red pocket-book or in one of the little drawers, or—”
“I will look everywhere, papa,” interrupted Lucy, who had now recovered her voice and natural color, and immediately left the room.
“It seems a strange thing,” said Mr. Woodford, turning to his companion, “that I should be so careless about such a sum of money; but the fact is, I had already set my house in order, as far as money matters are concerned, and was therefore almost sorry to have my mind called back to such a subject, from things of so much higher importance.”
“There is one thing, however, in the business,” said Norman, “which cannot fail to be gratifying, and that is the proof your friend has given of his honorable feelings.”
“Yes, that gave me sincere pleasure; and, indeed, I don’t pretend to say that the money itself was not very acceptable, for though we have had enough to live upon comfortably whilst all together, it will be but a small portion for each when divided amongst my large family.”
Lucy now returned to the room, but with a look of disappointment. The notes were no where to be found. Again and again she was sent on various errands of search, but all proved equally fruitless.
“I should not wonder, after all,” said the invalid, “if I merely put them into my pocket till you came home;” and as he spoke he began to draw one piece of paper out of his pockets after another—but the right ones were not there.
“Papa,” said Lucy, and the color almost forsook her cheeks, “you gave me some paper out of your pocket last night to light the lamp with.”