Sunday morning came, and Frank, being in the country, considered
himself absolved from the duty of going to church, and went for a
long stroll. At half-past one he presented himself at Mrs Hopgood's
house.
'I have had a letter from London,' said Clara to Frank, 'telling me a
most extraordinary story, and I should like to know what you think of
it. A man, who was left a widower, had an only child, a lovely
daughter of about fourteen years old, in whose existence his own was
completely wrapped up. She was subject at times to curious fits of
self-absorption or absence of mind, and while she was under their
influence she resembled a somnambulist rather than a sane human being
awake. Her father would not take her to a physician, for he dreaded
lest he should be advised to send her away from home, and he also
feared the effect which any recognition of her disorder might have
upon her. He believed that in obscure and half-mental diseases like
hers, it was prudent to suppress all notice of them, and that if he
behaved to her as if she were perfectly well, she would stand a
chance of recovery. Moreover, the child was visibly improving, and
it was probable that the disturbance in her health would be speedily
outgrown. One hot day he went out shopping with her, and he observed
that she was tired and strange in her manner, although she was not
ill, or, at least, not so ill as he had often before seen her. The
few purchases they had to make at the draper's were completed, and
they went out into the street. He took her hand-bag, and, in doing
so, it opened and he saw to his horror a white silk pocket-
handkerchief crumpled up in it, which he instantly recognised as one
which had been shown him five minutes before, but he had not bought.
The next moment a hand was on his shoulder. It was that of an
assistant, who requested that they would both return for a few
minutes. As they walked the half dozen steps back, the father's
resolution was taken. "I am sixty," he thought to himself, "and she
is fourteen." They went into the counting-house and he confessed
that he had taken the handkerchief, but that it was taken by mistake
and that he was about to restore it when he was arrested. The poor
girl was now herself again, but her mind was an entire blank as to
what she had done, and she could not doubt her father's statement,
for it was a man's handkerchief and the bag was in his hands. The
draper was inexorable, and as he had suffered much from petty thefts
of late, had determined to make an example of the first offender whom
he could catch. The father was accordingly prosecuted, convicted and
sentenced to imprisonment. When his term had expired, his daughter,
who, I am glad to say, never for an instant lost her faith in him,
went away with him to a distant part of the country, where they lived
under an assumed name. About ten years afterwards he died and kept
his secret to the last; but he had seen the complete recovery and
happy marriage of his child. It was remarkable that it never
occurred to her that she might have been guilty, but her father's
confession, as already stated, was apparently so sincere that she
could do nothing but believe him. You will wonder how the facts were
discovered. After his death a sealed paper disclosing them was
found, with the inscription, "Not to be opened during my daughter's
life, and if she should have children or a husband who may survive
her, it is to be burnt." She had no children, and when she died as
an old woman, her husband also being dead, the seal was broken.'