"Surely mamma, you did not expect me to go there. I cannot endure the thoughts of coming in contact with that disagreeable man," and Marguerite shrugged her shoulders in unaffected disgust.

"Marguerite, I am ashamed to think that I have a child capable of such ingrat.i.tude. It is enough for Evelyn to become obstinate and oppose me in everything, but, really, I did not expect it of you."

At this point Mrs. Verne became deeply affected, and very much inclined to cry, but she thought such a course inopportune and availed farther provocation.

"Has Eve been here lately, mamma," asked Marguerite, suddenly.

"If you have any respect to me please don't mention her to me again, Madge. I have done everything for that girl that a fond, idolized mother could do, and what is my reward? Base ingrat.i.tude of the worst kind. Talk of mothers; what do they live for; and Mrs. Verne stood with clenched hands, looking, indeed, a living representation of one of the Three Furies.

"Mamma, dear, do not look like that, I cannot bear to see you thus,"

cried Marguerite, catching hold of the fold of the cashmere gown and attempting to draw her mother towards her.

"I cannot help it, Madge, when my children are so disobedient.

Surely you cannot have forgotten the teachings of that Book, which says, 'Children obey your parents in the Lord' for this is the first commandment with promise. Oh, it is so hard to think that my children have such unchristian spirits."

"Come mamma, let us think of something else for a little while, and then we will both act differently," said Marguerite, trying to appear more cheerful than the circ.u.mstance would admit.

"I may just as well tell you once for all, Madge, that nothing will conciliate me but your acceptance of Sir Arthur's kind invitation which we can forward without delay."

Marguerite remained in silence for some moments. She was sorely tried, yet she brought reason to bear upon every point at issue. "If I go," reasoned she, "Sir Arthur will think that I give him encouragement, and that would be acting dishonestly, and again if I do not go mamma will have her feelings so deeply outraged that I fear the consequence. Oh! that I were once more in the protecting arms of my dear, dear father." The girl then thought of the lonely, silent man, plodding on so patiently amid the daily straggles of life, and her heart went out in deep fervent sympathy.

Presently her mind was made up. Going straight to her mother's dressing room, whither the latter had retreated in a state bordering on madness, Marguerite threw her arms out in imploring gesture and stood for a moment, then exclaimed between tears and sobs, "Mamma, do not judge me harshly, I want to do what is right--but it is so hard."

Mrs. Verne saw that her daughter was relenting, and uttered not a word.

"Mamma, dear, give me time and I will prove a dutiful daughter." She was going to say more when a servant entered with a note, which from its negligent appearance was evidently written in much haste. It was from Mrs. Montague Arnold, and contained only a few hurried sentences, so unintelligible that Marguerite did not attempt to interpret them.

"I will go at once, mamma," said the latter, "and see what is the trouble. Poor Eve, she seems always in some fuss."

As Mr. Arnold's residence was only a short distance, Marguerite was there in a very few minutes after the delivery of the note.

"Oh, Madge, how can I tell you; I know it will break your heart. Oh, poor papa? Oh! Madge--is it not dreadful?"

"What do you mean, Eve?" cried Marguerite, her ashen face sufficient proof of the shock she had already undergone. "Speak, Eve; for heaven's sake tell me the worst. Is papa dead?"

"Oh worse than that, Madge--worse than that. Death is nothing in comparison!"

"Eve, I cannot stand this horrible suspense; for mercy sake, I implore you tell me the truth," cried the girl, her bosom heaving wildly and her limbs trembling so that she had to grasp the mantel beside her for support.

Mrs. Arnold then pulled the bell-rope and a servant, or rather page, answered the summons.

"Bring me that package of letters lying on the small cabinet in my boudoir," said she, with as much nonchalance as if nothing of any importance occupied her thoughts.

The boy returned and presented the desired package on a small and unique silver salver, lined with gold and enamel.

"Here it is, Madge," said Mrs. Arnold, pa.s.sing a somewhat lengthy telegram into the girl's hand.

The latter run her eye hastily over the contents and turned deathly pale. "Poor, dear, papa!" were all the words she could say, when an icy chill ran through the delicate frame, and the tender-hearted daughter fell into a deadly swoon.

Mrs. Arnold did feel something akin to pity when she saw the graceful form prostrate at her feet, and as she stooped down and took the cold hand in hers, murmured "poor little Madge--you were not fashioned for this decidedly calculating world. Your heart is too tender--far too tender."

"You must be brave, Madge," said Mrs. Arnold, on seeing Marguerite restored to something of her former self. "I'm afraid you would be more of a drawback to papa at present than a help."

But Marguerite was of a different opinion. "Oh! if I were only near him, to comfort him," thought she, "I could indeed do something. My sadness to-day was but a presentiment of this. Oh, dear! will I ever see papa alive again!"

"Papa will be all right, Madge. It is to yourself you must now look, for more depends upon you now than you at present realize."

"You speak in enigmas, Eve. Tell me what you mean," cried Marguerite, in a bewildered sort of way.

"I will wait until you are a little stronger, Madge. Go home now and tell mamma what has happened; I know she will act like a sensible woman. You know, Madge, she is always composed. I verily believe,"

added Mrs. Arnold, "that mamma would feel at ease if all the friends she had committed suicide, or died from some fearful epidemic."

"Don't talk about mamma in that way, Eve; I cannot bear to listen."

Mrs. Arnold thought just then that the girl would listen to something, perhaps to her, far more disagreeable, but she held her peace.

Poor Marguerite. All prospect of happiness had now fled from her vision. She saw instead sorrow, disappointment, and, perhaps, death.

"If papa survives the shock I will face the world, and, amid poverty, and the slights of my former companions, I will toil--yes, I will work at anything that I can do in honesty." And with this high resolve Marguerite set forth to break the sad news to her worldly-minded mother.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

THE STORM THICKENS.

It would be much easier to imagine than describe the violent paroxysms of grief (if we may use the expression) which seized upon Mrs. Verne when Marguerite calmly broke the unwelcome news. Grief did we say--yes--"not the grief that saps the mind," but grief for the deprivation of those luxuries which the woman had considered as part and parcel of herself.

"It is just what one might have expected from the loose way in which your father has been transacting his business," cried Mrs. Verne, wringing her hands, and lamenting wildly; and then turning upon her daughter the full benefit of her penetrating eyes, added, "and it is not himself that will suffer the most, but think of us Madge. How nice you will look going out to earn your living, perhaps, behind some counter, or worse still, apprenticed to a dressmaker and blinding yourself over such rags as we would not condescend to put on, nor, more than that, recognize the people to whom they belonged."

After this harangue, Mrs. Verne threw herself into the elegant fauteuil of carved ebony and oriental tapestry, and poured forth another volume of tears more prolific than the first.

"Mamma, dear, what is the use of all this. The affair is bad enough, but it might be a great deal worse. Papa is still alive and we can live just as happily on a small income as indulging in such luxury. Really, my dear mamma, I feel that we are going to be much happier. I need not, as you remarked, have to submit to any great drudgery, I can teach music and painting, thanks to those kind instructors who took such pains in my education, and if I fail to make that kind of work remunerative, why I can easily fit myself for a school-teacher."

"Marguerite Verne!" cried the horrified mother, raising her hands in gestures of dismay, "You will drive me mad! A daughter of mine a school-teacher! Oh! dear, did I ever think I would raise a child to inherit such plebeian ideas. Bad as Evelyn is with all her faults she would not hurt my feelings in such a manner."

Marguerite looked at her mother with a feeling of compa.s.sion, yet there were rebellious thoughts in her mind.

"Is it possible that mamma forgets poor dear papa, who is most to be pitied?" murmured she, as she strove to hide the tears that would flow in spite of all her efforts.

"And only to think of your papa's slackness. I shouldn't wonder one bit if he gave up every cent's worth of property, and all the furniture into the bargain. It is just such a trick as he would do, for the sake of being called an honest man. Yes, it is very nice to hear people talking of 'honesty being the best of policy' where no one is concerned in the matter; but when it comes home, I say a man's first honesty is to his family."

"Pray, mamma dear, do not worry over our worldly loss; it will all come right," whispered Marguerite, in tones of endearment, and stroking the luxuriant ma.s.s of silken hair that crowned the pretty, cla.s.sic-shaped head.

"Well, I hope so, Madge; but I am sorry that I cannot entertain your very convenient sort of opinion," returned Mrs. Verne, in a half angry and petulant mood; then rising from her seat, took up a piece of crewel embroidery, saying, "I suppose if I have to turn out and earn my living I had better begin at once," and suiting the action to the word, was soon busily engaged in making some pretty st.i.tches upon the handsome panel of rich garnet-colored velvet.

While Marguerite sat buried in deep thought, turning over and over in her mind what she must do, an attendant arrived with a letter.