"Never. I feel confident that Dick will never come back to me,
although--although I shall love him always," and she raised her veil to
wipe the hot tears from her cheeks.
"No, no," I exclaimed, endeavouring to comfort her, "don't meet trouble
half-way. That's one of the secrets of happiness. We all of us have
our little spasms of grief and despair sometimes, you know."
"Ah! yes, of course," she cried quickly. "But this sorrow has, alas!
not come alone. Still another misfortune has fallen upon me."
"What's that?" I inquired, surprised.
"My father!" she exclaimed huskily.
"And what of him?" I asked. "I called upon him a short time ago.
Surely nothing has happened to him?"
"Well," she replied, "it occurred like this. I got permission this day
week to leave business at five o'clock, and, as usual, went home. When,
however, I arrived at the shop I found it shut, and to my amazement a
bailiff was in possession."
"For debt?" I inquired.
"Yes. He showed me some papers, and said it would cost about four
hundred pounds to settle both bill and costs of the court."
"And your father? What was his explanation?" I asked, greatly
interested and surprised.
"He wasn't there," she responded. "That's the curious part about the
whole affair. I made inquiries, and discovered that he had suddenly
shut up the shop about noon three days before, and had gone off with a
heavy trunk placed on a four-wheeled cab."
"Does no one know where he's gone?"
"Nobody," she answered excitedly. "It's so strange that he has not
written me a single line in explanation. I can't understand it."