Shattered Hopes
It would be as useless as unpleasant to dilate on Mr. Heriton’s disappointment and anger when Florence related the issue of her visit to Lieutenant Mason. He had anticipated so much from the interview that his vexation was excessive. Perhaps he scarcely acknowledged to himself the whole of the motives which influenced him when he insisted that his daughter should be the bearer of his note; but certain it is that he had secretly hoped much from the effect that he expected Florence’s beauty and grace would have upon the gay and dissipated lieutenant.
His angry speeches, full of childish petulance, were heard in pitying silence, for Florence clearly saw what the end must be, and in her deep compassion for the utter wreck of his hopes forgot her annoyance at the folly with which he had suffered himself to be duped by every knave with whom he came in contact. But her forbearing affection would not calm his restless misery, and when two days elapsed without Lieutenant Mason fulfilling his promise of calling or writing, Mr. Heriton took to his bed, worn out with suspense and anxiety.
“You must go to him again, my darling,” he said imploringly, as Florence stood by his bedside, trying to soothe him into a calmer mood. “Don’t draw back and look at me so! I must know how I am situated with him. If I were but young and strong as I used to be, I would take him by the throat and compel him to refund the money. Go to him, Florence. He is making thousands by this company; he has acknowledged as much more than once; and our pitiful hundreds are nothing in his eyes. Go and bid him return them. I know of a better investment, and you shall yet have your legacy doubled, my poor child.”
“Dear papa, have patience!” pleaded his daughter. “He may come yet. If not, were it not better to submit ourselves to the loss?”
“Pshaw! You have preached these words to me till I am sick of hearing you! Go to Lieutenant Mason. At such an early hour as this he must be at home; and if you choose to persevere, I am sure you will be able to see him.”
“But, dear papa, remember how uselessly I strove before,” said Florence, shrinking from the hateful task.
He started up in bed, every limb quivering with rage.
“Ungenerous girl, have you no feeling for me? Will you let me lie here and die with the anguish and misery of such uncertitude? But I am a fool to ask you this. What do you care for my sufferings? If you dared you would tell me, as my sister Margaret does, that they are my own fault. Leave the room, that I may dress, and do my errand myself!”
“You are too weak to attempt it, sir,” cried Florence, restraining him as he was about to rise. “Only tell me what you wish me to say, and I will go.”
Pacified by this assurance, he gave her ample directions; and, hurrying on her hat and mantle, she trod the way to the Albany once more. She would not think of herself or of the annoyance she underwent on the former occasion, but passed steadily on, intent only upon getting such an explanation from the lieutenant as should set the vexed question of the money at rest forever.
“He will palter with me, perhaps,” she said to herself, “or try to put me off with vague promises, as he has done poor papa; but I must be quietly firm, and refuse to be satisfied with anything but the plain facts of the case. Papa said I was not persevering enough before. He shall not have to say this again. For his sake I will be wary, and obstinate even to rudeness.”
Her courage rose with the occasion, and when her tap at the outer door of the chambers was answered with a careless “Come in,” she stepped forward resolutely.
The servant of Lieutenant Mason was sitting at the table, looking over some accounts. He stared at her insolently, but neither rose nor offered her a seat.
“Your master has not fulfilled his promise of visiting or writing to us,” said Florence. “I will thank you to tell him that I am here. I will not detain him long, but my business is too urgent to be delayed again.”
