ince I last saw
you, about how you first met with our darling girl? or about her poor
mother? or--?"

"What, you're at it again, sir," interrupted Mrs. Peckover loftily, but
dropping her voice in imitation of Mr. Blyth,--"a clever man, too, like
you! Dear, dear me! how often must I keep on telling you that I'm old
enough to be able to hold my tongue? How much longer are you going to
worrit yourself about hiding what nobody's seeking after?"

"I'm afraid I shall always worry myself about it," replied Valentine
seriously. "Whenever I see you, my good friend, I fancy I hear all that
melancholy story over again about our darling child, and that poor lost
forsaken mother of hers, whose name even we don't know. I feel,
too, when you come and see us, almost more than at other times, how
inexpressibly precious the daughter whom you have given to us is to
Lavvie and me; and I think with more dread than I well know how to
describe, of the horrible chance, if anything was incautiously said, and
carried from mouth to mouth--about where you met with her mother, for
instance, or what time of the year it was, and so forth--that it might
lead, nobody knows how, to some claim being laid to her, by somebody who
might be able to prove the right to make it."

"Lord, sir! after all these years, what earthly need have you to be
anxious about such things as that?"

"I'm never anxious long, Mrs. Peckover. My good spirits always get the
better of every anxiety, great and small. But while I don't know that
relations of hers--perhaps her vile father himself--may not be still
alive, and seeking for her--"

"Bless your heart, Mr. Blyth, none of her relations are alive; or if
they are, none of them care about her, poor lamb; I'll answer for it."

"I hope in God you are right," said Valentine, earnestly. "But let us
think no more about it now," he added, resuming his usual manner. "I
have asked my regular question, that I can't help asking whenever I see
you; and you have forgiven me, as usual, for putting it; and now I am
quite satisfied. Take my arm, Mrs. Peckover: I mean to give the students
of my new drawing academy a holiday for the rest of the night, in honor
of your arrival. What do you say to devoting the evening in the old way
to a game at cards?"

"Just what I was thinking I should like myself as long as it's
only sixpence a game, sir," said Mrs. Peckover gaily. "I say, young
gentleman," she continued, addressing Zack after Mr. Blyt