as pouring out the coffee, her father rose and turned his
back to the fire.

It was really interesting, almost awe-inspiring, to behold Mr Auberly
rise; he was so very tall, and so exceedingly straight. So remarkably
perpendicular was he, so rigidly upright, that a hearty but somewhat
rude sea-captain, with whom he once had business transactions, said to
his mate on one occasion that he believed Mr Auberly must have been
born with a handspike lashed to his backbone. Yes, he was wonderfully
upright, and it would have been downright madness to have doubted the
uprightness of the spirit which dwelt in such a body; so nobody did
doubt it, of course, except a few jaundiced and sceptical folk, who
never could be got to believe anything.

"Good-night, my love," said Mr Auberly, as the child placed the coffee
beside his chair, and then advanced, somewhat timidly, and held up her
cheek to be kissed.

The upright man stooped, and there was a shade less of grimness in his
smile as his lips touched his daughter's pale cheek.

Louisa, or, to use the name by which she was better known in the house,
Loo, had clasped her hands tightly together while she was in the act of
receiving this tribute of parental affection, as if she were struggling
to crush down some feeling, but the feeling, whatever it was, would not
be crushed down; it rose up and asserted itself by causing Loo to burst
into a passionate flood of tears, throw her arms round her father's
neck, and hold him tight there while she kissed his cheek all over.

"Tut, tut, child!" exclaimed Mr Auberly, endeavouring to re-arrange the
stiff collar and cravat, which had been sadly disordered; "you must
really try to get over these--there, don't be cast down," he added, in a
kinder tone, patting Loo's head. "Good-night, dear; run away to bed
now, and be a good girl."

Loo smiled faintly through her tears as she looked up at her father, who
had again become upright, said "Good-night," and ran from the room with
a degree of energy that might have been the result of exuberant spirits,
though possibly it was caused by some other feeling.

Mr Auberly sat for some time, dividing his attentions pretty equally
between the paper, the fire, and the coffee, until he recollected having
received a letter that day which he had forgotten to answer, whereupon
he rose and sat down before his writing-table to reply.

The letter was from a poor widow, a sister-in-law of his own, who had
disg