him to continue. "I have to say
things to you that ought by rights to be spoken to your mother; but I
find here that in future you will be the head of this household, and
that mother, brother, sisters will turn to you."

"Poor mamma! she is broken-hearted," sighed Hazel. "I shall try to do
my best, Mr Geringer."

"I know you will, Hazel, come what may."

"Yes, come what may," she replied, with another sigh.

"Shall I leave what I have to say for a few weeks, and then talk it
over? I can wait."

"I would rather hear it now," replied Hazel. "No trouble could be
greater than that we have had to bear, and I see you have bad news for
us, Mr Geringer."

"I regret to say I have--very bad news."

"Tell me," said Hazel sadly, as she gazed in her visitor's face.

"It is about the future, my dear child," he said slowly; and he watched
the effect of his words. "You and your brother and sisters have been
brought up here quite in luxury."

"Papa was always most indulgent and kind."

"Always," assented Geringer. "There, I will not hesitate--I will not go
roundabout to tell you. I only ask you, my dear Hazel, to try and bear
with fortitude the terrible news I have to inflict upon you, and to beg
that you will not associate it in future with me."

"I shall always think of you as my father's most trusted friend. But
pray, pray tell me now, and--and--I will try to bear it as I should."

She was choked now by her sobs, and as Geringer tenderly took one of her
hands, she let him retain it while he spoke.

"My dear Hazel," he said, "your late father always passed for a wealthy
man, but I grieve to say that of late he had embarked in some most
unfortunate speculations."

"Poor papa!"

"They were so bad that at last all depended upon one change in the
market--a change that did not take place till after his death."

Hazel sobbed.

"If he had lived two days longer he would have known that he was a
ruined man."

Hazel's tears ceased to flow, and Geringer went on:--

"I grieve, then, to tell you, my dear child, that instead of leaving his
family in a tolerably independent state, my poor friend has left you all
penniless."

"Penniless?"

"Yes. Worse; for this house and its furniture must go to defray the
debts he has left behind. It is terrible--terrible indeed."

"Terrible?"

"Yes, dreadful," he said, gazing in her face.

"Is that all?"

"All? All, my child? What do you mean?"

"Is that the terrible