“And she tells me that my legacy has been drawn out. Oh, papa!” Florence flung herself into his arms, sobbing. “It is not true, is it? Do tell me that it isn’t true!” “And if it is, what then?” he retorted. “If it had not been for my meddling, mischief-making sister you would have known nothing of the circumstance until I was prepared to return the loan. You don’t suppose I mean to rob you, child, do you?” Without replying, she turned from him and wept as if her heart would break. Nothing angered him more than the sight of her tears, and he soon worked himself into the belief that he was an ill-used man. “Are you mad, Florence, that you go on in this ridiculous manner? Have done, I say! I’ll not put up with it! I consider that I have an undoubted right, as your father and guardian, to invest your money for your benefit. You must be of an avaricious disposition, or you would not act in this way.” Still she made no reply, but her silent grief eventually softened him, and, sitting down beside her, he said, with more feeling: “My dear, dear child, don’t weep like this! I cannot bear to see it; and, indeed, my love, you are wrong to entertain such fears--you are, really.” “Papa, it was our little all. It was a provision for your old age,” she murmured. “While that was safe I could bear the anxiety of the present.” “I know, dear--yes, I know. I did not mean what I said when I called you avaricious. You have been the tenderest, the most self-denying of daughters to me. Heaven bless you for it! And don’t--don’t mistrust me, Florry, my darling! I meant no wrong to you in taking that money. I saw such a splendid opportunity of doubling it--for you, love--for you. And it is as you say, our all--our last venture. Surely Heaven will not let this tiny bark be wrecked, like the rest!” Startled by the passionate anguish in his broken accents, Florence looked in his face. For the first time it wore a frightened aspect: for the first time his own sanguine faith in his success was shaken. “I should go mad,” he muttered, “if Mason failed me and I was obliged to know that I had ruined my child past redemption. Florence,” he added, almost wildly, “don’t torture me with doubts and reproaches. Mason has assured me that the money is safe, and he would not deceive me; he dare not, I tell you--he dare not!” “Hush, papa!” said Florence gently. “We’ll never mention it again. I’m sure you meant well, so we’ll wait and hope.” His looks cleared. “Yes, yes, love, we’ll hope. Now you are my kind, sensible child once more. We’ll hope, Florry; and when the hope becomes a certainty, and we go back to Northumberland, my darling shall have a tiara of pearls for her pretty brown hair, from her fond father. How well such an ornament would become you! Which would you like best--pearls alone, or mixed with sapphires? Not talk about it now, do you say? Very well, love; but it shall not be forgotten.”