this morning the kind and tender lover
was not there. The expression that sat upon the countenances of her brothers, and of
Mr. Marchdale, was quite sufficient to convince her that something more
serious than usual had occurred, and she at the moment turned very pale. Marchdale observed this change of change of countenance in her, and he
advanced towards her, saying,--

"Calm yourself, Flora, we have something to communicate to you, but it
is a something which should excite indignation, and no other feeling, in
your breast." "Brother, what is the meaning of this?" said Flora, turning aside from
Marchdale, and withdrawing the hand which he would have taken. "I would rather have Admiral Bell here before I say anything," said
Henry, "regarding a matter in which he cannot but feel much interested
personally." "Here he is," said the admiral, who at that moment had opened the door
of the breakfast room. "Here he is, so now fire away, and don't spare
the enemy." "And Charles?" said Flora, "where is Charles?" "D--n Charles!" cried the admiral, who had not been much accustomed to
control his feelings. "Hush! hush!" said Henry; "my dear sir, hush! do not indulge now in any
invectives. Flora, here are three letters; you will see that the one
which is unopened is addressed to yourself. However, we wish you to read
the whole three of them, and then to form your own free and unbiased
opinion." Flora looked as pale as a marble statue, when she took the letters into
her hands. She let the two that were open fall on the table before her,
while she eagerly broke the seal of that which was addressed to herself. [Illustration]

Henry, with an instinctive delicacy, beckoned every one present to the
window, so that Flora had not the pain of feeling that any eyes were
fixed upon her but those of her mother, who had just come into the room,
while she was perusing those documents which told such a tale of
heartless dissimulation. "My dear child," said Mrs. Bannerworth, "you are ill."

"Hush! mother--hush!" said Flora, "let me know all." She read the whole of the letters through, and then, as the last one
dropped from her grasp, she exclaimed,--

"Oh, God! oh, God! what is all that has occurred compared to this? Charles--Charles--Charles!" "Flora!" exclaimed Henry, suddenly turning from the window. "Flora, is
this worthy of you?" "Heaven now support me!" "Is this worthy of the name you bear Flora? I should have thought, and I
did hope, that woman's pride would have supported you." "Let me implore you," added Marchdale, "to summon indignation to your
aid, Miss Bannerworth." "Charles--Charles--Charles!" she again exclaimed, as she wrung her hands
despairingly. "Flora, if anything could add a sting to my already irritated feelings,"
said Henry, "this conduct of yours would." "Henry--brother, what mean you? Are you mad?" "Are you, Flora?" "God, I wish now that I was." "You have read those letters, and yet you call upon the name of him who
wrote them with frantic tenderness." "Yes, yes," she cried; "frantic tenderness is the word. It is with
frantic tenderness I call upon his name, and ever will.--Charles! Charles!--dear Charles!" "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." Flora raised her beautiful eyes, and looked the old weather-beaten
admiral full in the face. Oh! what a striking contrast did those two persons present to each
other. That young and beautiful girl, with her small, delicate,
childlike hands clasped, and completely hidden in the huge ones of the
old sailor, the white, smooth skin contrasting wonderfully with his
wrinkled, hardened features. "My dear," he cried, "you have read those--those d----d letters, my
dear?" "I have, sir." "And what do you think of them?" "They were not written by Charles Holland, your nephew." A choking sensation seemed to come over the old man, and he tried to
speak, but in vain. He shook the hands of the young girl violently,
until he saw that he was hurting her, and then, before she could be
aware of what he was about, he gave her a kiss on the cheek, as he
cried,--

"God bless you--God bless you! You are the sweetest, dearest little
creature that ever was, or that ever will be, and I'm a d----d old fool,
that's what I am. These letters were not written by my nephew, Charles. He is incapable of writing them, and, d--n me, I shall take shame to
myself as long as I live for ever thinking so." "Dear sir," said Flora, who somehow or another did not seem at all
offended at the kiss which the old man had given her; "dear sir, how
could you believe, for one moment, that they came from him? There has
been some desperate villany on foot. Where is he?--oh, find him, if he
be yet alive. If they who have thus striven to steal from him that
honour, which is the jewel of his heart, have murdered him, seek them
out, sir, in the sacred name of justice, I implore you." "I will--I will. I don't renounce him; he is my nephew still--Charles
Holland--my own dear sister's son; and you are the best girl, God bless
you, that ever breathed. He loved you--he loves you still; and if he's
above ground, poor fellow, he shall yet tell you himself he never saw
those infamous letters." "You--you will seek for him?" sobbed Flora, and the tears gushed from
her eyes. "Upon you, sir, who, as I do, feel assured of his innocence, I
alone rely. If all the world say he is guilty, we will not think so." "I'm d----d if we do." Henry had sat down by the table, and, with his hands clasped together,
seemed in an agony of thought. He was now roused by a thump on the back by the admiral, who cried,--

"What do you think, now, old fellow? D--n it, things look a little
different now." "As God is my judge," said Henry, holding up his hands, "I know not what
to think, but my heart and feelings all go with you and with Flora, in
your opinion of the innocence of Charles Holland." "I knew you would say that, because you could not possibly help it, my
dear boy.