are like me,
and I wanted to see the result."

"We shall see."

"Veronica has been let alone--is master of herself, except when in a
rage. She is an extraordinary girl; independent of kith and kin, and
everything else. I assure you, Miss Cassy, she is very good."

"Does she ever ask for me?"

"I never heard her mention your name but once. She asked one day what
your teachers were. You do not love each other, I suppose. What hatred
there is between near relations! Bitter, bitter," he said calmly, as
if he thought of some object incapable of the hatred he spoke of.

"That's Grandfather John Morgeson you think of. I do not hate
Veronica. I think I love her; at least she interests me."

"The same creeping in the blood of us all, Cassy. I did not like my
father; but thank God I behaved decently toward him. It must be late."

As he kissed me, and we stood face to face, I recognized my likeness
to him. "He has had experiences that I shall never know," I thought.
"Why should I tell him mine?" But an overpowering impulse seized me
to speak to him of Charles. "Father," and I put my hands on his
shoulders. He set his candle back on the table.

"You look hungry-eyed, eager. What is it? Are you well?"

"No."

"You are faded a little. Your face has lost its firmness."

My impulse died a sudden death. I buried it with a swallow.

"Do you think so?"

"You are all alike. Let me tell you something; don't get sick. If you
are, hide it as much as possible. Men do not like sick women."

"I'll end this fading business as soon as possible. It _is_ late.
Good-night, dad."

I examined my face as soon as he closed the door. There _was_ a
change. Not the change from health to disease, but an expression
lurking there--a reflection of some unrevealed secret.

The next morning was passed with Alice and the children. He was
pleased with her prettiness and sprightliness, and his gentle manner
and disposition pleased her. She asked him to let me spend another
year in Rosville; but he said that I must return to Surrey, and that
he never would allow me to leave home again.

"She will marry."

"Not early."

"Never, I believe," I said.

"It will be as well."

"Yes," she replied; "if you leave her a fortune, or teach her some
trade, that will give her some importance in the world."

Her wisdom astonished me.

He was sorry, he said, that Morgeson was not at home. When he
mentioned him I looked out of the window, and saw Ben So