ke you happy; you are not so now; but I am your
father; you are my only child; all that I have will be yours; but in the
meantime, you are not happy. What can I do, my beloved child, to make
you so?" said the banker, drawing her to his side and kissing her
tenderly, and then releasing her.

"Papa, dear, I should be a most ungrateful daughter if I were not happy,"
answered the girl.

"Then you _are_ a very thankless child, my little Salome, for you
are very far from happy," said her father, gravely shaking his head, yet
looking so tenderly upon her as to take all rebuke from his words.

Salome dropped her eyes under his searching, loving gaze.

"My child, I know that I have the power to bless you, if you will only
tell me how. Tell me, my dear," persisted her father.

But still she dropped her eyes and hung her head.

"If your mother were here, you could confide in her. You cannot confide
in your father, my poor, motherless girl, and he cannot blame you," said
Sir Lemuel, sadly.

"Father, dear father, I _do_ love you; and I will confide in you,"
said Salome, earnestly.

For just then a mighty power of faith and love arose in her soul, casting
out fear, casting out doubt, subduing pride and reserve.

"What is it, then, my love? Have you formed any attachment of which you
have hesitated to tell me? Hesitate no longer, my dearest Salome. Tell me
all about it. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Love is natural. Love is
holy. Oh, it is your mother that should be telling you all this, my poor
girl, not your awkward, blundering old father," suddenly said the banker,
breaking off in his discourse as his daughter hid her crimson face upon
his shoulder.

"My dear, gentle father, no mother could be tenderer than you," murmured
Salome.

"Tell me all, then, my darling. It is the first wish of my heart to see
you happily married. And no trifling obstacle shall stand in the way of
its accomplishment. _Who is he, Salome?_" he inquired, in a low
whisper, as he passed his hand around her neck.

She did not answer, but she kissed and fondled his hand.

"You cannot bring yourself to tell me yet? Well, take your own time, my
love. You will tell me some time or another," he continued, returning her
soft caresses.

"Yes, I will tell you sometime, dear, good, tender father. But now--when
do we leave town papa?"

"In less than three weeks, my dear."

"And where do we go?"

"To Lone Castle, if you like; if not, anywhere you pre