dear, have you heard nothing? It won't be long before it reaches you."
"Is it anything about Tertius?" said Rosamond, turning pale. The idea of trouble immediately connected itself with what had been unaccountable to her in him.
"Oh, my dear, yes. To think of your marrying into this trouble. Debt was bad enough, but this will be worse."
"Stay, stay, Lucy," said Mr Vincy. "Have you heard nothing about your uncle Bulstrode, Rosamond?"
"No, papa," said the poor thing, feeling as if trouble were not anything she had before experienced, but some invisible power with an iron grasp that made her soul faint within her.
Her father told her everything, saying at the end, "It's better for you to know, my dear. I think Lydgate must leave the town. Things have gone against him. I daresay he couldn't help it. I don't accuse him of any harm," said Mr Vincy. He had always before been disposed to find the utmost fault with Lydgate.
The shock to Rosamond was terrible. It seemed to her that no lot could be so cruelly hard as hers—to have married a man who had become the centre of infamous suspicions. In many cases it