"Will it change your situation at once?" asked Mrs. Sandford of her brother.
"I can't say; probably not at once; but without some aid, all I have must go."
"What! the house?" exclaimed Marcia.
"Yes,—the house, Marcia, and the furniture. We shall be stripped."
"The deuse!" said Charles.
"Heaven help us! what shall we do?"
"I haven't had time to form any plan. I trust, indeed, that Heaven will help us, as you rather lightly wished."
His face wore a touching look of faith and resignation, while at the same time his hand rested with secret satisfaction upon his pocket-book.
The conversation was disagreeable to Charles, and he sauntered off to the drawing-room.
Mrs. Sandford inwardly determined to return to her home, or at least to go elsewhere in the city, so as not to be a burden to her brother-in-law; but she remained silent. Mr. Sandford balanced his knife, sliced his bread into figures, then hummed and beat a tattoo upon the table,—sure indications of forgetfulness in one so scrupulous as he. At length, with a bland voice, but a sharp, inquiring eye, he said,—