In Love's Hands by Bertha M. Clay — Read

For some time after Mrs. Blunden's carriage rolled away from the door, Florence remained like one stupefied. As her aunt's words resounded in her ears, a terrible suspicion grew upon her that there was truth in the tale, and that the money was actually withdrawn.

She had a hazy recollection of her father coming to her bedside one evening, when her head was wandering, and asking her to sign a paper he held in his hand. She remembered, too, how, when the circumstance recurred to her memory, she had asked him what he had wished her to write. Ah, and it was this that troubled her more, far more, than the loss she had sustained, for, without the slightest hesitation, he had carelessly answered: