But for Graham, there was much
that could only be matter for conjecture, much that he could
only learn from inference, and to him there was something at
once strange and pitiable in the simplicity with which she
talked to him of her past life, dwelling on little episodes
that only served to exhibit more and more clearly the real
character of M. Linders and his associates. Not for the world
would he have touched the child's innocent faith, or revealed
to our simple Madelon that her father was not the perfection
she dreamed him; but he began to understand better the meaning
of M. Linders' last words in his letter to his sister, and
they gained a pathetic significance and force as he learnt to
appreciate the affection that had subsisted between the father
and child, and foresaw too plainly that the time must come
when some rude shock would shatter all Madelon's early
beliefs, and desecrate, as it were, her tenderest memories.
There was something so sad in this certain retribution that
must fall upon her innocent head, as the child of such a
father, something so touching in her anomalous position, left
all friendless and lonely in the midst of such a hard,
relentless world, that Horace felt all his tenderest feelings
stirred with compassion, and he could have wished to have
shielded her for ever from what, he could not but fear, too
surely awaited her sooner or later.
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