vy. Sit
down and talk to me. I want to hear your voice; it is pleasant to my ears,
makes music in my heart, calls up the bygone. You have adopted a stick in
my absence; I don't like the innovation; it hurts me to think that you need
it. I must take care of you, I see, and persuade you to relinquish it
entirely."

"Arnold, I verily believe she was more anxious to see you than everybody
else in W---- except old Nellie, her nurse."

She did not contradict him, and the three sat conversing for more than an
hour; then other visitors came in, and she withdrew to the parlour. The
doctor had examined her closely all the while; had noted every word,
action, expression; and a troubled, abstracted look came into his face when
she left them.

"Huntingdon, what is it? What is it?"

"What is what? I don't understand you."

"What has so changed that child? I want to know what ails her?"

"Nothing, that I know of. You know that she was always rather singular."

"Yes, but it was a different sort of singularity. She is too still, and
white, and cold, and stately. I told you it was a wretched piece of
business to send a nature like hers, so different from everybody else's,
off among utter strangers; to shut up that queer, free untamed thing in a
boarding-school for four years, with hundreds of miles between her and the
few things she loved. She required very peculiar and skilful treatment,
and, instead, you put her off where she petrified! I knew it would never
answer, and I told you so. You wanted to break her obstinacy, did you? She
comes back marble. I tell you now I know her better than you do, though you
are her father, and you may as well give up at once that chronic
hallucination of 'ruling, conquering her.' She is like steel--cold, firm,
brittle; she will break; snap asunder; but bend!--never! never! Huntingdon,
I love that child; I have a right to love her; she has been very dear to me
from her babyhood, and it would go hard with me to know that any sorrow
darkened her life. Don't allow your old plans and views to influence you
now. Let Irene be happy in her own way. Did you ever see a
contented-looking eagle in a gilt cage? Did you ever know a leopardess kept
in a paddock, and taught to forget her native jungles?"

Mr. Huntingdon moved uneasily, pondering the unpalatable advice.

"You certainly don't mean to say that she has inherited----?" He crushed
back the words; could he crush the apprehension, too?

"I mean to s