e to go early, father, dear. It will be very crowded, and
Gerald is waiting. His wife is going to stay with you during my
absence."

"How well you look, my daughter! Why, really, you are getting young
again!"

"This is my birthday, father. I am a maiden of no particular age to
the public, but I whisper in your ear privately," she joyously said;
and, suiting the action to the word, bent down, whispered, kissed him,
and was gone.

"How time flies! But she is still very beautiful. Heaven grant my
prayers may be answered. She deserves to be happy; and when I am gone
she will be very lonely, and then feel keenly my harsh treatment," he
murmured.

Wearily passed the hours until he heard her light step on the stairs.
She came in. He thought there seemed a shadow on her face, but she
came forward, and said, pleasantly:

"Well, father, you are likely to keep your daughter. I heard Ernest. I
had not expected too much; he was grandly eloquent. He has altered in
his looks; he seems much older, and is quite gray; mental work and
hard study, he says."

"Then you saw him, and spoke to him! What do you mean by saying I
shall keep you? Is he mar----"

"Yes," she replied, before he had finished his question. "He
introduced me to his daughter, a little miss of about twelve; so you
were right when you said that men were too sensible to suffer for or
from love. He must have married in two years after he left us. Gerald
left little Constance and me in the library, and went and brought him
to see us. We were with him only a very short time, when he was sent
for. He excused himself, and bade us good-day. Now, father, I will
remove my wrappings, and order dinner."

Day after day passed on, and Constance had schooled herself to think
of Ernest only as a happy husband and father. She did not blame him
for taking a companion. He was away from all kindred and friends, and
she had given him no hope to induce him to wait through all these
years for her.

One day, just a week after their meeting at Congress, she was sitting
reading to her father, when a servant entered, and handed a card. She
read, Ernest Ellwood!

Paler for a few moments, and tightly pressed were the sweet lips. She
did not rise from her seat, until she had communed with her heart.
Now, she thought, I must call up all my fortitude and self-control,
and prove to Ernest, to my father, and, more than all, to myself, that
my heart is not troubled!

"Father," she said, "E