t pervades his whole
intercourse with her. As Gabriel and Ellen grow up toward maturity, Mrs.
Bennet observes that the same peculiarity is stealing into his manner
toward them. It is as if he were involuntarily asking pardon for some
great wrong that he has unconsciously done them. And yet his mildness,
and sweetness, and simplicity of nature are such, that this singular
manner does not disturb the universal cheerfulness.

"You look a little tired to-night, father," says Gabriel, when they are
all seated in the front room again, by the table, with the lamp lighted.

"Yes," replies the father, who sits upon the sofa, with his wife by his
side--"yes; Mr. Van Boozenberg was very angry to-day about some error he
thought he had discovered, and he was quite short with us book-keepers,
and spoke rather sharply."

A slight flush passes over Mr. Bennet's face, as if he recalled something
extremely disagreeable. His eyes become dreamy again; but after a moment
the old smile returns, and, as if begging pardon, in a half bewildered
way, he resumes:

"However, his position is trying. Fortunately there wasn't any mistake
except of his own."

He is silent again. After a little while he asks, "Couldn't we have some
music? Ellen, can't you sing something?"

Ellen thinks she can, if Gabriel will sing second; Gabriel says he will
try, with pleasure; but really--he is so overwhelmed--the state of his
voice--he feigns a little cough--if the crowded and fashionable audience
will excuse--he really--in fact, he will--but he is sure--

During this little banter Nellie cries, "Pooh, pooh!" mamma looks
pleased, and papa smiles gently. Then the fresh young voices of the
brother and sister mingle in "Bonnie Doon."

The room is not very light, for there is but one lamp upon the table by
which the singers sit. The parents sit together upon the sofa; and as the
song proceeds the hand of the mother steals into that of the father,
which holds it closely, while his arm creeps noiselessly around her
waist. Their hearts float far away upon that music. His eyes droop as
when he was speaking of the tropic islands--as if he were hearing the
soft language of those shores. As his wife looks at him she sees on his
face, beneath the weariness of its expression, the light which shone
there in the days when they sang "Bonnie Doon" together. He draws her
closer to him, and his head bows as if by long habit of humility. Her
eyes gradually fill with tears; an