d," Mr. Denyer replied
apologetically, turning his look to the girls a gain. "After settling
here, and paying the expenses of the journey, I shall have a little
left, very little indeed. But I'm going to Vera Cruz on a distinct
engagement, and I shall soon be able to send you something. I'm afraid
you had better go to Aunt Dora's again; I've heard from her lately, and
she has the usual spare rooms."

The girls exchanged looks of dismay. The terrible silence was broken by
Zillah, who spoke in quavering accents.

"Papa dear, I have made up my mind to get a place as a nursery
governess. I shall very soon be able to do so."

"And I shall do the same, papa--or something of the kind," came
abruptly from Madeline.

"You, Maddy?" exclaimed her father, who had received the youngest
girl's announcement with a look of sorrowful resignation, but was
shocked at the other's words.

"I am no longer engaged to Mr. Marsh," Madeline proceeded, casting down
her eyes. "Please don't say anything, mamma. I have made up my mind. I
shall look for employment."

Her father shook his head in distress. He had never enjoyed the control
or direction of his daughters, and his long absences during late years
had put him almost on terms of ceremony with them. In time gone by,
their mother had been to him an object of veneration; it was his
privilege to toil that she might live in luxury; but his illusions
regarding her had received painful shocks, and it was to the girls that
he now sacrificed himself. Their intellect, their attainments, at once
filled him with pride and made him humble in their presence. But for
his reluctance to impose restraints upon their mode of life, he might
have avoided this present catastrophe; he had cried "Wolf!" indeed, in
his mild way, but took no energetic measures when he found his cry
disregarded--all the worse for him now that he could postpone the evil
day no longer.

"You are the best judge of your own affairs, Madeline," he replied
despondently. "I'm very sorry, my girl."

"All I can say is," exclaimed Mrs. Denyer, as if with dignified
reticence, "that I think we should have had longer warning of this!"

"My dear, I have warned you repeatedly for nearly a year."

"I mean _serious_ warning. Who was to imagine that things would come to
such a pass as this?"

"You never told us there was danger of absolute beggary, papa,"
remarked Barbara, in a tone not unlike her mother's.

"I ought to have spoken more