d bless my soul! you don't say so; only fifteen, and a book-keeper,
and shares her father's troubles, and flies like a tiger into a man's
face who don't do to suit her!--hum!

"I should like to see her again. I should, indeed."

Mrs. Dering could not restrain a smile at the utter amazement depicted
in his face. He looked like a man who was undergoing a constant
shower-bath, and didn't know what to make of it.

"I am very sorry," she said. "It grieves me that Olive has an
exceedingly peculiar and unforgiving disposition. She was devoted to her
father, and you are quite correct in your supposition that she saw your
letter."

"And consequently don't want to see any more of me," said Mr. Congreve,
with a quick nod, and as Mrs. Dering made no denial, he got up, and
seizing his cane, began to walk up and down the room, and Mrs. Dering
watching his face, saw therein a struggle of some kind. In truth, he was
turning over in his mind a confession, which his obstinate pride
struggled against, but which a new, strange feeling, that told him he
did not want this family's contempt and hatred, claimed and conquered.
He stopped in his restless walk, and faced her suddenly.

"I have been angry with my nephew for years, you know that, and you know
my nature," he said sharply, all the more so to hide his feelings. "When
I wrote that letter I meant every word of it, and as many more of the
same kind, but some womanish weakness afterwards possessed me, and on
the day that I heard of his death, I had a letter written to him,
containing the check for six thousand."

Knowing him, as she did, Mrs. Dering well understood the feelings
attendant upon this confession, and her face softened wonderfully as she
said:

"I most regret, Mr. Congreve, that Robert did not live to know that you
repented the cruel words that so grieved him. You know how proud and
sensitive he was, and what a struggle it must have been to ask help of
you. Your kindness, though too late, we all appreciate sincerely."

"Too late? The time is not out."

"But I shall let the store go. I have no sons, and I cannot have the
care of it on my mind."

"Humph! May I ask what you intend to do?"

"Certainly. I have some money, four thousand in the bank, which will
only be taken out in great necessity. As soon as possible, myself and
children will begin to work. I am quite sure that I can secure a
situation in the seminary three miles out of town, perhaps one also for
Beatr