"The test may be possible."
"You think so?"
"I do, indeed."
"Here is a letter, which of course remains unopened, addressed to Flora by Charles Holland. The admiral rather thought it would hurt her feelings to deliver her such an epistle, but I must confess I am of a contrary opinion upon that point, and think now the more evidence she has of the utter worthlessness of him who professed to love her with so much disinterested affection, the better it will be for her."
"You could not, possibly, Henry, have taken a more sensible view of the subject."
"I am glad you agree with me."
"No reasonable man could do otherwise, and from what I have seen of Admiral Bell, I am sure, upon reflection, he will be of the same opinion."
"Then it shall be so. The first shock to poor Flora may be severe, but we shall then have the consolation of knowing that it is the only one, and that in knowing the very worst, she has no more on that score to apprehend. Alas, alas! the hand of misfortune now appears to have pressed heavily upon us indeed. What in the name of all that is unlucky and disastrous, will happen next, I wonder?"
"What can happen?" said Marchdale; "I think you have now got rid of the greatest evil of all—a false friend."
"We have, indeed."
"Go, then, to Flora; assure her that in the affection of others who know no falsehood, she will find a solace from every ill. Assure her that there are hearts that will place themselves between her and every misfortune."
Mr. Marchdale was much affected as he spoke. Probably he felt deeper than he chose to express the misfortunes of that family for whom he entertained so much friendship. He turned aside his head to hide the traces of emotion which, despite even his great powers of self-command, would shew themselves upon his handsome and intelligent countenance. Then it appeared as if his noble indignation had got, for a few brief moments, the better of all prudence, and he exclaimed—
"The villain! the worse than villain! who would, with a thousand artifices, make himself beloved by a young, unsuspecting, and beautiful girl, but then to leave her to the bitterness of regret, that she had ever given such a man a place in her esteem. The heartless ruffian!"
"Be calm, Mr. Marchdale, I pray you be calm," said George; "I never saw you so much moved."
"Excuse me," he said, "excuse me; I am much moved, and I am human. I cannot always, let me strive my utmost, place a curb upon my feelings."
"They are feelings which do you honour."
"Nay, nay, I am foolish to have suffered myself to be led away into such a hasty expression of them. I am accustomed to feel acutely and to feel deeply, but it is seldom I am so much overcome as this."
"Will you accompany us to the breakfast room at once, Mr. Marchdale, where we will make this communication to Flora; you will then be able to judge by her manner of receiving it, what it will be best to say to her."
"Come, then, and pray be calm. The least that is said upon this painful and harassing subject, after this morning, will be the best."
"You are right—you are right."
Mr. Marchdale hastily put on his coat. He was dressed, with the exception of that one article of apparel, when the brothers came to his chamber, and then he came to the breakfast-parlour where the painful communication was to be made to Flora of her lover's faithlessness.
Flora was already seated in that apartment. Indeed, she had been accustomed to meet Charles Holland there before others of the family made their appearance, but, alas! this morning the kind and tender lover was not there.
The expression that sat upon the countenances of her brothers, and of Mr. Marchdale, was quite sufficient to convince her that something more serious than usual had occurred, and she at the moment turned very pale. Marchdale observed this change of change of countenance in her, and he advanced towards her, saying—
"Calm yourself, Flora, we have something to communicate to you, but it is a something which should excite indignation, and no other feeling, in your breast."
"Brother, what is the meaning of this?" said Flora, turning aside from Marchdale, and withdrawing the hand which he would have taken.
"I would rather have Admiral Bell here before I say anything," said Henry, "regarding a matter in which he cannot but feel much interested personally."
"Here he is," said the admiral, who at that moment had opened the door of the breakfast room. "Here he is, so now fire away, and don't spare the enemy."
"And Charles?" said Flora, "where is Charles?"
"D—n Charles!" cried the admiral, who had not been much accustomed to control his feelings.
"Hush! hush!" said Henry; "my dear sir, hush! do not indulge now in any invectives. Flora, here are three letters; you will see that the one which is unopened is addressed to yourself. However, we wish you to read the whole three of them, and then to form your own free and unbiased opinion."
Flora looked as pale as a marble statue, when she took the letters into her hands. She let the two that were open fall on the table before her, while she eagerly broke the seal of that which was addressed to herself.
Henry, with an instinctive delicacy, beckoned every one present to the window, so that Flora had not the pain of feeling that any eyes were fixed upon her but those of her mother, who had just come into the room, while she was perusing those documents which told such a tale of heartless dissimulation.
"My dear child," said Mrs. Bannerworth, "you are ill."
"Hush! mother—hush!" said Flora, "let me know all."
She read the whole of the letters through, and then, as the last one dropped from her grasp, she exclaimed—
"Oh, God! oh, God! what is all that has occurred compared to this? Charles—Charles—Charles!"
"Flora!" exclaimed Henry, suddenly turning from the window. "Flora, is this worthy of you?"
"Heaven now support me!"
"Is this worthy of the name you bear Flora? I should have thought, and I did hope, that woman's pride would have supported you."
"Let me implore you," added Marchdale, "to summon indignation to your aid, Miss Bannerworth."
"Charles—Charles—Charles!" she again exclaimed, as she wrung her hands despairingly.
"Flora, if anything could add a sting to my already irritated feelings," said Henry, "this conduct of yours would."
"Henry—brother, what mean you? Are you mad?"
"Are you, Flora?"
"God, I wish now that I was."
"You have read those letters, and yet you call upon the name of him who wrote them with frantic tenderness."
"Yes, yes," she cried; "frantic tenderness is the word. It is with frantic tenderness I call upon his name, and ever will.—Charles! Charles!—dear Charles!"
"This surpasses all belief," said Marchdale.
"It is the frenzy of grief," added George; "but I did not expect it of her. Flora—Flora, think again."
"Think—think—the rush of thought distracts. Whence came these letters?—where did you find these most disgraceful forgeries?"
"Forgeries!" exclaimed Henry; and he staggered back, as if someone had struck him a blow.
"Yes, forgeries!" screamed Flora. "What has become of Charles Holland? Has he been murdered by some secret enemy, and then these most vile fabrications