The next minute, what should come but a long letter from Dr. Staines,
detailing his endeavors to purchase a practice in London, and his
ill-success. The letter spoke the language of love and hope; but the
facts were discouraging; and, indeed, a touching sadness pierced through
the veil of the brave words.
Rosa read it again and again, and cried over it before her father, to
encourage him in his heartless behavior.
About ten days after this, something occurred that altered her mood.
She became grave and thoughtful, but no longer lugubrious. She seemed
desirous to atone to her father for having disturbed his cheerfulness.
She smiled affectionately on him, and often sat on a stool at his knee,
and glided her hand into his.
He was not a little pleased, and said to himself, "She is coming round
to common-sense."
Now, on the contrary, she was farther from it than ever.
At last he got the clew. One afternoon he met Mr. Wyman coming out of
the villa. Mr. Wyman was the consulting surgeon of that part.
"What! anybody ill?" said Mr. Lusignan. "One of the servants?"
"No; it is Miss Lusignan."
"Why, what is the matter with her?"
Wyman hesitated. "Oh, nothing very alarming. Would you mind asking her?"
"Why?"
"The fact is, she requested me not to tell you: made me promise.
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