For days together he wandered about the loneliest paths of the garden, apparently anxious to escape the presence even of his daughter.

If she caught a glimpse of him at a distance, a fierce look of irritation was perceptible on his face, while his arms were thrown about in rapid and convulsive gesticulations.

If she approached him with marks of love and devotion, he scarcely replied to her affectionate words, but left the garden to bury himself in the solitude of the house.
An entire month--a month of bitter sadness and unexpressed suffering on both sides--passed in this way; and Lenora observed with increased anxiety the rapid emaciation and pallor of her father, and the suddenness with which his once-lively eye lost every spark of its wonted vivacity.

It was about this time that a slight change in the old gentleman's conduct convinced her that a secret--and perhaps a terrible one--weighed on his heart.

Every day or two he went to Antwerp in the _caleche_, without informing her or any one else of the object of his visit.