If Lenora sometimes asked him, with tears, what was the cause of his depression, he adroitly managed to avoid all explanations.  For days together he wandered about the loneliest paths of the garden, apparently anxious to escape the presence even of his daughter.  If she caught a glimpse of him at a distance, a fierce look of irritation was perceptible on his face, while his arms were thrown about in rapid and convulsive gesticulations.  If she approached him with marks of love and devotion, he scarcely replied to her affectionate words, but left the garden to bury himself in the solitude of the house.

An entire month—­a month of bitter sadness and unexpressed suffering on both sides—­passed in this way; and Lenora observed with increased anxiety the rapid emaciation and pallor of her father, and the suddenness with which his once-lively eye lost every spark of its wonted vivacity.  It was about this time that a slight change in the old gentleman’s conduct convinced her that a secret—­and perhaps a terrible one—­weighed on his heart.  Every day or two he went to Antwerp in the caleche, without informing her or any one else of the object of his visit.  He came back to Grinselhof late at night, seated himself at the supper-table silent and resigned, and, persuading Lenora to go to bed, soon went off to his own chamber.  But his daughter was well aware that he did not retire to rest; for during long hours of wakefulness she heard the floor creak as he paced his apartment with restless steps.

Lenora was brave by nature, and her singular and solitary education had given her a latent force of character that was almost masculine.  By degrees the resolution to make her father reveal his secret grew in her mind.  And, although a feeling of instinctive respect made her hesitate, a restless devotion to the author of her being gradually overcame all scruples and emboldened her for the enterprise.

One day Monsieur De Vlierbeck set off very early for town.  The morning wore away heavily; and, toward the afternoon, Lenora wandered wearily about the desolate house, with no companion but her sad reflections.  At length she entered the apartment where her father usually studied or wrote, and, after a good deal of hesitation, in which her face and gestures displayed the anxiety of her purpose, opened the table-drawer, and saw in it, unrolled, a written document.  The paleness of death overspread her countenance as she perused the paper and instantly closed the drawer.  After this she left the apartment hastily, and, returning to her chamber, sat down with hands clasped on her knees and eyes fixed on the floor in a stare of wild surprise.

“Sell Grinselhof!” exclaimed she.  “Sell Grinselhof!  Why?  Monsieur Denecker insulted my father because we were not rich enough for him.  What is this secret? and what does it all mean?  If it should be true that we are beggars!  Oh, God! does a ray of light penetrate my mind? is this the solution of the enigma and the cause of my father’s depression?”