thank you from the very depths of my glad heart."

As she released his hand and left the studio he found two bright drops on
his fingers, drops called forth by the most intense joy she had ever known.
Having some commission from her aunt, she did not re-enter the carriage,
and, after thanking Irene for her kindness, walked away.

The ride home was very silent. Miss Margaret sat stiff and icy, looking
quite insulted, while her niece was too much engrossed by other reflections
to notice her. The latter spent the remainder of the morning in writing to
Hugh and correcting her French exercises, and when summoned to dinner she
entered the room expecting a storm. A glance sufficed to show her that
Miss Margaret had not yet spoken to her father, though it was evident from
her countenance that she was about to make what she considered an important
revelation. The meal passed, however, without any allusion to the subject,
and, knowing what she had to expect, Irene immediately withdrew to the
library to give her aunt an opportunity of unburdening her mind. The
struggle must come some time, and she longed to have it over as soon as
possible. She threw up the sash, seated herself on the broad cedar
window-sill, and began to work out a sum in Algebra. Nearly a half-hour
passed; the slamming of the dining-room door was like the first line of
foam, curling and whitening the sea when the tempest sweeps forward; her
father stamped into the library, and the storm broke over her.

"Irene! didn't I positively order you to keep away from that Aubrey family?
What do you mean by setting me at defiance in this way, you wilful,
spoiled, hard-headed piece? Do you suppose I intend to put up with your
obstinacy all my life, and let you walk roughshod over me and my commands?
You have queened it long enough, my lady. If I don't rein you up, you will
turn your aunt and me out of the house next, and invite that precious
Aubrey crew to take possession. Your confounded stubbornness will ruin you
yet. You deserve a good whipping, miss; I can hardly keep my hands off of
you."

He did not; rough hands seized her shoulder, jerked her from the
window-sill, and shook her violently. Down fell book, slate, and pencil
with a crash; down swept the heavy hair, blinding her. She put it back,
folded her hands behind her as if for support, and, looking up at him, said
in a low, steady, yet grieved tone--

"I am very sorry you are angry with me, father."

"Devili