As the sale was stated to be in consequence of his departure from the country, the gossips would have been unable to discover the genuine motive if the news had not come from Antwerp that De Vlierbeck had resolved to pay his debts and was wretchedly poor.  The cause of his misfortune—­that is to say, his liability for his brother—­was known, though all the circumstances were not fully understood.

As soon as the publication was made, the poor old gentleman led, if possible, a more retired life than ever, in order to avoid explanations.  Resigned to his fate, he quietly awaited the day of sale; and, although his feelings often strove to master his resolution, the constant care and encouragement of his noble-hearted daughter enabled him to encounter the fatal hour with a degree of pride.

In the mean while he received a letter from Gustave at Rome, containing a few lines for his child.  The young man declared that absence from Lenora had only increased his affection, and that his only consolation was the hope of future union with her by the bonds of marriage.  But in other respects the letter was not encouraging.  He said with pain that all his efforts to change his uncle’s determination had, up to that time, been fruitless.  De Vlierbeck did not conceal from Lenora that he no longer had a hope of her union with Gustave, and that she ought to strive against this unhappy love in order to escape from greater disappointment.  Indeed, since her father’s poverty had become publicly known, Lenora was convinced that duty commanded her to renounce every hope; yet she could not help feeling pleased and strengthened by the thought that Gustave still loved her, and that he, whose memory filled her heart, dreamed of her in his distant home and mourned her absence.

She kept her promises to him faithfully.  How often did she pronounce his name in the solitude of that garden!  How often did she sigh beneath the catalpa, as if anxious to trust the winds with a message of love to other lands!  In her lonely walks she repeated his tender words; and often did she stop musingly at some well-remembered spot where he had blessed her with a tender word or look.

But poor De Vlierbeck was obliged to undergo additional pain; for, as if every misfortune that could assail him was to be accumulated at that moment on his devoted head, he received from America the news of his brother’s death!  The unfortunate wanderer died of exhaustion in the wilderness near Hudson’s Bay.  The poor gentleman wept long and bitterly for the loss of a brother whom he tenderly loved; but he was soon and roughly turned aside to encounter the catastrophe of his own fate.

The day of sale arrived.  Early in the morning Grinselhof was invaded by all sorts of people, who, moved by curiosity or a desire to purchase, overran every nook and corner of the house, examining the furniture and estimating its value.