“You could not, possibly, Henry, have taken a more sensible view of the subject.”

“I am glad you agree with me.”

“No reasonable man could do otherwise, and from what I have seen of Admiral Bell, I am sure, upon reflection, he will be of the same opinion.”

“Then it shall be so.  The first shock to poor Flora may be severe, but we shall then have the consolation of knowing that it is the only one, and that in knowing the very worst, she has no more on that score to apprehend.  Alas, alas! the hand of misfortune now appears to have pressed heavily upon us indeed.  What in the name of all that is unlucky and disastrous, will happen next, I wonder?”

“What can happen?” said Marchdale; “I think you have now got rid of the greatest evil of all—­a false friend.”

“We have, indeed.”

“Go, then, to Flora; assure her that in the affection of others who know no falsehood, she will find a solace from every ill.  Assure her that there are hearts that will place themselves between her and every misfortune.”

Mr. Marchdale was much affected as he spoke.  Probably he felt deeper than he chose to express the misfortunes of that family for whom he entertained so much friendship.  He turned aside his head to hide the traces of emotion which, despite even his great powers of self-command, would shew themselves upon his handsome and intelligent countenance.  Then it appeared as if his noble indignation had got, for a few brief moments, the better of all prudence, and he exclaimed,—­

“The villain! the worse than villain! who would, with a thousand artifices, make himself beloved by a young, unsuspecting, and beautiful girl, but then to leave her to the bitterness of regret, that she had ever given such a man a place in her esteem.  The heartless ruffian!”

“Be calm, Mr. Marchdale, I pray you be calm,” said George; “I never saw you so much moved.”

“Excuse me,” he said, “excuse me; I am much moved, and I am human.  I cannot always, let me strive my utmost, place a curb upon my feelings.”

“They are feelings which do you honour.”

“Nay, nay, I am foolish to have suffered myself to be led away into such a hasty expression of them.  I am accustomed to feel acutely and to feel deeply, but it is seldom I am so much overcome as this.”

“Will you accompany us to the breakfast room at once, Mr. Marchdale, where we will make this communication to Flora; you will then be able to judge by her manner of receiving it, what it will be best to say to her.”

“Come, then, and pray be calm.  The least that is said upon this painful and harassing subject, after this morning, will be the best.”

“You are right—­you are right.”

Mr. Marchdale hastily put on his coat.  He was dressed, with the exception of that one article of apparel, when the brothers came to his chamber, and then he came to the breakfast-parlour where the painful communication was to be made to Flora of her lover’s faithlessness.