The man ushered them into a small but elegantly furnished apartment: a lamp burned brightly upon the table. Near to it stood Flora Wilton, dressed as Hal had never seen her before. Her attire was such as a princess might have worn--and with pride, for it was costly in its value, and in its taste unimpeachable.
As the light fell full upon her face and form, Hal turned faint. Flora smiled sweetly, and said in a tone musical, half joyous, yet half reproachful--
“I am so glad to see you, Hal!--Mr. Vivian--I--I thought you would have come before; I quite ex----”
She paused, for she suddenly perceived Lotte, who had tremblingly shrunk behind Hal, wishing from the depths of her aching heart she had never, never been induced to come here.
Hal followed the direction of her eyes, and he said, hastily--
“I am grateful, Miss Wilton, for your kind reception, but to-night, at least, I do not claim it for myself. I have one poor sorrowful heart here with me for whom I entreat your warm interest; she needs it. To ensure your sympathy, I may only suggest that Lotte Clinton”----
Flora was at the side of Lotte in an instant, with her arm round her waist. The bright rays of the lamp fell upon the thin, white, wasted features of the poor, half-fainting creature. Flora had last seen her a roundfaced, pretty, lively, laughing girl. What a dreadful change did she now behold!
She twined her arms about Lotte’s shoulders; she laid her cold wan face upon her own warm bosom.
“Oh Lotte, Lotte, dear, dear Lotte, what has happened?” she murmured, through her streaming tears; “why are are you so dreadfully changed? Confide in me as in a sister--pray, pray do; oh, my heart aches to see you thus; indeed, Lotte, it does; in very truth, it does.”
Why, had Flora been grand, had she played the lady, had she offered to take the case presented to her by Hal at an early moment, and promised to do something, Lotte might have been pierced to the heart--but she would then have stood up bravely and haughtily--have declined the intended favour, though she consigned herself to destitution by the act; but to be caught thus to Flora’s heart--to be embraced--to have poured into her ears expressions of tender sympathy--to feel upon her cheeks the tears of human pity, which had the essence of divine pity--to feel, to be convinced that the tender commiseration which Flora--though unknowing the circumstances--had exhibited for her was sincere--it was all--all!--more than she could bear; she sank at Flora’s feet, embraced her knees, tried to ejaculate her gratefulness, tried to tell that now, indeed, she felt herself lifted out of despair and degradation; but exhausted nature refused to do more, and she fell back upon the carpet in a swoon.