ized the child. 'You chose the ugliest name that a
girl can have,' she said. I begged her to remember that 'Eunice' was
a name in Scripture. She persisted in spite of me. (What firmness of
character!) 'I detest the name of Eunice!' she said; 'and now that I
have a girl of my own, it's my turn to choose the name; I claim it as my
right.' She was beginning to get excited; I allowed her to have her own
way, of course. 'Only let me know,' I said, 'what the name is to be when
you have thought of it.' My dear sir, she had the name ready, without
thinking about it: 'My baby shall be called by the name that is sweetest
in my ears, the name of my dear lost mother.' We had--what shall I call
it?--a slight difference of opinion when I heard that the name was to be
Helena. I really could _not_ reconcile it to my conscience to baptize
a child of mine by the name of a Popish saint. My wife's brother set
things right between us. A worthy good man; he died not very long ago--I
forget the date. Not to detain you any longer, the rector of Long Lanes
baptized our daughter. That is how she comes by her un-English name; and
so it happens that her birth is registered in a village which her father
has never inhabited. I hope, sir, you think a little better of my memory
now?"

I was afraid to tell him what I really did think.

He was not fifty years old yet; and he had just exhibited one of the sad
symptoms which mark the broken memory of old age. Lead him back to the
events of many years ago, and (as he had just proved to me) he could
remember well and relate coherently. But let him attempt to recall
circumstances which had only taken place a short time since, and
forgetfulness and confusion presented the lamentable result, just as I
have related it.

The effort that he had made, the agitation that he had undergone in
talking to me, had confirmed my fears that he would overtask his
wasted strength. He lay back in his chair. "Let us go on with our
conversation," he murmured. "We haven't recovered what I had forgotten,
yet." His eyes closed, and opened again languidly. "There was something
I wanted to recall--" he resumed, "and you were helping me." His weak
voice died away; his weary eyes closed again. After waiting until there
could be no doubt that he was resting peacefully in sleep, I left the
room.

CHAPTER XXXIV. THE LIVELY OLD MAID.

A perfect stranger to the interior of the house (seeing that my
experience began and ended with