Verne would
suffer no interruption, so he calmly listened and uttered not a
word.
"Phillip, it is a sad story that I have to tell, but I know you will
help me to bear up. I have only you to confide in--only you."
Mr. Verne rested for a moment, and then continued, "It was the day
before I was prostrated that I called upon you but learned that you
were out of town until the following day. I wished to tell you
something that grieved me more than living being ever can know. I
had then in my breast pocket the death warrant of all my future hope
and joy--that fatal letter announcing the betrothal of my darling
Marguerite to that dissolute and unprincipled young man--Hubert
Tracy."
Mr. Verne paused, then glanced at Phillip Lawson.
"Ah my son, God knows I would it were otherwise, I know that you
love my child. I have cherished that secret as something sacred, and
lived in the hope that all would come right some day. Phillip, my
boy, I can bear _my_ grief, but it is hard to see the hopes of
a bright and useful life buried deep--so deep."
The young man sat like one in a mocking cruel dream. The news
stunned him. It was so unexpected, and yet so true.
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