“Mine?” replied Jacob, with a bewildered look. “Mine? defalcations? banks broke? hey? Jacob Ford a beggar, after fifty years’ toil?” “Worse--worse,” said Trask, making a violent effort to speak. “Percy Lee is arrested for embezzlement, and I have proofs of his guilt. There--now I’ve said it.” “Man! do you _know_ this?” said Jacob, in a hoarse whisper, putting his white lips close to his friend’s ear, as if he feared the very walls would tell the secret. “Before God, ’tis true,” said Trask, solemnly. “Then God’s curse light on the villain,” said Jacob Ford. “My Mary--my bright, beautiful Mary! Oh! who will tell _her_? Listen, Trask, that’s her voice--singing. Oh, God--oh God, this is too dreadful”--and the old man bowed his head upon his breast, and wept like a child. “What does all this mean?” asked Lucy Ford, opening the door. “Jacob--husband--Trask--what is it?” and she looked from one to the other, in bewildered wonder. “Tell her, Trask,” whispered Jacob. “Don’t weep so, dear Jacob,” said Lucy; “if money has gone, we can both go to work again; we both know how. Mary will soon have a home of her own.” Jacob sprang to his feet, and seizing Lucy by the arm, hissed in her ear, “Woman, don’t you name him. May God’s curse blight him. May he die alone. May his bones bleach in the winds of heaven, and his soul be forever damned. Lucy--Percy Lee is a--a--swindler! There--now go break _her_ heart, if you can. Lucy?--Trask?”--and Jacob, overcome with the violence of his feelings, wept again like a child; while poor Lucy, good Lucy, hid her face on her husband’s breast, repressing her own anguish that she might not add to his. “Who’s going to tell _her_, I say?” said Jacob. “May my tongue wither before I do it. My darling--my loving, beautiful darling--who will tell her?” “I,” said the mother, with ashen lips, as she raised herself slowly from her husband’s breast, and moved toward the door. Clutching at the balustrade for support, Lucy dragged herself slowly up stairs. Ah! well might she reel to and fro as she heard Mary’s voice: “Bring flowers, bring flowers for the bride to wear, They were born to blush in her shining hair; She is leaving the home of her childhood’s mirth, She hath bid farewell to her father’s hearth, Her place is now by another’s side; Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride.” A trembling hand was laid upon Mary’s shoulder. She shook back her long bright hair, and looked smilingly up into her mother’s face. “Mary,” said Lucy, solemnly, “you will never marry Percy Lee.” “Dead? Percy dead? Oh--no--no,” gasped the poor girl. “_My_ Percy!--no--no!” “Worse--worse,” said Lucy, throwing her protecting arms around her child. “Mary, Percy Lee is a swindler; he is unworthy of you; you must forget him.” “Never,” said Mary--“never! Who _dare_ say that? Where is he?--take me to him;” and she sunk fainting to the floor.