ssell."

She gathered up her books, took the gloves, and went slowly homeward, and
Russell returned to his desk with a light in his eyes which, for the
remainder of the day, nothing could quench. As Irene ascended the long hill
on which Mr. Huntingdon's residence stood, she saw her father's buggy at
the door, and as she approached the steps, he came out, drawing on his
gloves.

"You are late, Irene. What kept you?"

"I have been shopping a little. Are you going to ride? Take me with you."

"Going to dine at Mr. Carter's."

"Why, the sun is almost down now. What time will you come home? I want to
ask you something."

"Not till long after you are asleep."

The night passed very slowly; Irene looked at the clock again and again.
Finally the house became quiet, and at last the crush of wheels on the
gravel-walk announced her father's return. He came into the library for a
cigar, and, without noticing her, drew his chair to the open window. She
approached and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Irene! what is the matter, child?"

"Nothing sir; only I want to ask you something."

"Well, Queen, what is it?"

He drew her tenderly to his knee, and passed his hand over her floating
hair.

Leonard Huntingdon was forty years old; tall, spare, with an erect and
martial carriage. He had been trained at West Point, and perhaps early
education contributed somewhat to the air of unbending haughtiness which
many found repulsive. His black hair was slightly sprinkled with grey, and
his features were still decidedly handsome, though the expression of mouth
and eyes was, ordinarily, by no means winning. Irene was his only child;
her mother had died during her infancy, and on this beautiful idol he
lavished all the tenderness of which his nature was capable. His tastes
were cultivated, his house was elegant and complete, and furnished
magnificently; every luxury that money could yield him he possessed, yet
there were times when he seemed moody and cynical, and no one could surmise
the cause of his gloom. The girl looked up at him fearing no denial.

"Father, I wish, please, you would give me two hundred dollars."

"What would you do with it, Queen?"

"I do not want it for myself; I should like to have that much to enable a
poor woman to recover her sight. She has cataracts on her eyes, and there
is a physician in New Orleans who can relieve her. Father, won't you give
me the money?"

He took the cigar from his lips, shook off