morning; I'm
glad to see that you have acquired a graceful manner of entering a
breakfast-room."

"If I keep on improving, papa, you will give me the promised winter in
Havana I suppose?"

"I suppose so, my child. I wish to make you very happy."

There was a softness in Mr. Delancey's cold eyes, as he spoke, which one
would no sooner have expected to see there, than they would thought to
have seen a rock melt. Only his daughter could bring it there.

"Miss Della," said the governess, "your attitude is a trifle too
stiff--a little more of the bend, if you please."

Miss Della tipped a little.

"Dort, darling," said Mrs. Delancey, "pray don't display such an
appetite--it is really frightful to see you eat so much. A young lady
like you should be very delicate at table."

"And pay long visits to the cupboard between meals, eh, mamma?"

Mr. Delancey looked anxiously to note the progress his daughter had made
in the viands before her.

"Don't do anything _outre_ in public, Della, no matter what you are
obliged to do in private."

"No, papa."

"I want to see you very perfect in all things,--in all things, Della--do
you understand?"

"Yes, papa."

"Make it your aim to be everything a young lady can be. Remember you
are all the child that's left me now. All my hopes are upon you--try
never, never to disappoint me!"

Mr. Delancey rarely spoke so feelingly--it was a rare manner for him,
and the effect of his words was very strange. Della's elegantly
embroidered kerchief was clasped suddenly to her face, and she burst
into a violent fit of weeping.

"Della, how un-self-possessed! you astonish me."

"You shouldn't have made that allusion to her brother," said Mrs.
Delancey, sympathizingly.

"Dry your eyes immediately, Della; I am ready to go," said her father,
sternly.

Della choked back her tears, and rising, approached her father, and
gracefully put her lips to his forehead, and gave the usual morning
kiss.

"No more scenes to-day, Della."

"No, papa."

The door closed, and he was gone.

CHAPTER XI.

"Then I'll look up;
My fault is past. But oh, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn?
Try what repentance can: what can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?"

Hamlet.

When Guly returned to his place that afternoon, Arthur was at his side;
and when both raised their eyes to Wilkins' face, as they passed him, he
read there an expression of calm tranquill