“I really don’t know,” I replied, after some reflection. “His disappearance is certainly remarkable, but if he is in hiding, it is not at all strange that he should omit to write to you. He knows your address, therefore, when he deems it safe in his own interests to communicate with you and explain, he will do so, no doubt.”
“Then I’m to wait in patience and see our home sold up?” she asked, tears again welling in her dark, luminous eyes.
“You can do nothing else,” I said. “He evidently means that it should be sold, for he has made no attempt to rescue it.”
“There are so many of my poor mother’s things there. I should so like to keep them—her little trinkets and such trifles. It seems very hard that they should be sold to a second-hand dealer.”
“That’s so, but you have no means of rescuing them,” I pointed out. “It is certainly very hard indeed for you to be left alone and friendless like this, but without doubt your father has some reason in acting thus.”
“He’s fled like some common thief,” she cried, with a choking sob. “And now I haven’t a single friend.”
“I am your friend,” I said, echoing her sigh. “You have my sympathy, Lily, and if I can render you any service I shall always be ready to do so.”
She thanked me warmly in a voice choked by sobs, for the two great sorrows had fallen upon her, and she was overwhelmed and broken.
I promised I would speak to Dick, and if possible arrange a meeting between them, in order to try and effect a reconciliation. Inwardly, however, I knew that this was quite impossible, for he had really grown tired of her, and had more than once in the past few days openly congratulated himself upon his freedom. She remained a short time longer, and before she left had become more composed and was in better spirits.
Then, when she shook my hand to go forth, she said—