“I’ll go back now,” said Miss Grainger, “and prepare them for your coming. They’ll wonder what has detained me all this while. Wait one moment for me here.” Calvert, apparently, was too much engaged with his own thoughts to hear her, and suffered her to go without a word. She was quickly back again, and beckoning him to follow her, led the way to the drawing-room. Scarcely had Calvert passed the doorway, when the two girls met him, and each taking a hand, conducted him without a word to a sofa. Indeed, his sickly look, and the air of downright misery in his countenance, called or all their sympathy and kindness. “I have scarcely strength to thank you!” he said to them, in a faint voice. Though the words were addressed to both, the glance he gave towards Florence sent the blood to her pale cheeks, and made her turn away in some confusion. “You’ll have some tea and rest yourself, and when you feel once quiet and undisturbed here you’ll soon regain your strength,” said Emily, as she turned towards the tea-table. While Florence, after a few moments’ hesitation, seated herself on the sofa beside him. “Has she told you what has befallen me?” whispered he to her. “In part--that is, something of it. As much as she could in a word or two; but do not speak of it now.” “If I do not now, Florence, I can never have the courage again.” “Then be it so,” she said eagerly. “I am more anxious to see you strong and well again, than to hear how you became wretched and unhappy.” “But if you do not hear the story from myself, Florence, and if you should hear the tale that others may tell of me--if you never know how I have been tried and tempted--” “There, there--don’t agitate yourself, or I must leave you; and, sec, Milly is remarking our whispering together.” “Does she grudge me this much of your kindness?” “No; but--there--here she comes with your tea.” She drew a little table in front of him, and tried to persuade him to eat. “Your sister has just made me a very generous promise, Emily,” said he. “She has pledged herself--even without hearing my exculpation--to believe me innocent; and although I have told her that the charges that others will make against me may need some refutation on my part, she says she’ll not listen to them. Is not that very noble--is it not truly generous?” “It is what I should expect from Florence.” “And what of Florence’s sister?” said he, with a half furtive glance towards her. “I hope, nothing less generous.” “Then I am content,” said he, with a faint sigh. “When a man is as thoroughly ruined as I am, it might be thought he would be indifferent to opinion in every shape--and so I am, beyond the four walls of this room; but here,” and he looked at each in turn, “are the arbiters of my fate; if you will but be to me dear sisters--kind, compassionate, forgiving sisters--you will do more for this crushed and wounded heart, than all the sympathy of the whole world beside.”