uch still, but not as she had
loved him once; the power to love any one in that old trustful, devoted
way seemed gone forever.

"My pale daughter," he said, looking down at her sadly, "what shall I do
to bring back your lost roses!"

"Am I pale?" she said, indifferently. "What does it matter? I feel well
enough."

"I don't think you do. You are gone to a shadow. Would you like a
change, my dear? Would you not like a pleasure tour this summer
weather?"

"I don't care about it, papa."

"But you will come to please me. I shall take you to the Southern
States, and fetch you back in the autumn my own bright Kate again."

There was no light of pleasure or eagerness in her face. She only moved
uneasily on the grass.

"You will come, my dear, will you not? Eunice will accompany you; and we
will visit all the great cities of this New World, that you have so
often longed to see."

"I will do whatever you wish, papa," she said, apathetically.

"And you will give Eunice her orders about the packing to-day, and be
ready to start to-morrow?"

"Yes, papa."

"Ogden will remain behind," continued her father, in a lowered voice. "I
have said nothing to any one else as yet about Harry. I shall go and
speak to them both about it now."

"Yes, papa."

She watched him striding away, with that look of weary listlessness that
had grown habitual to her, and rose from her grassy couch with a sigh,
to obey his directions. She found Eunice in the sewing room, with Agnes
Darling, and gave her her orders to pack up, and be prepared to start
next morning. Then she went back to her seat under the old apple-tree,
and lay on the warm grass in a state between sleeping and waking all day
long.

The day of departure dawned cloudless and lovely. Grace, her
brother, and Eeny went to the station with the travellers, and saw
them off. Kate's farewell was very cold, even to Eeny. What was the
use of losing or being sorry to part with any one, since all the
world was false, and hollow, and deceitful? She had lost
something--heart--hope--conscience--she hardly knew what; but something
within her that had beat high, and hopeful, and trusting, was cold and
still as stone.

The little party on the platform went back through the yellow haze of
the hot afternoon, to the quiet old house. Ah! how indescribably quiet
and lonely now! Some one might have lain dead in those echoing rooms, so
deadly was the stillness.

There was one consolation for Gra