k.

'What is the matter?' he said, sternly. 'Why do you come here? What has
frightened you?'

If anything had frightened her, it was the face he turned upon her. The
glowing love within the breast of his young daughter froze before it,
and she stood and looked at him as if stricken into stone.

There was not one touch of tenderness or pity in it. There was not one
gleam of interest, parental recognition, or relenting in it. There was
a change in it, but not of that kind. The old indifference and cold
constraint had given place to something: what, she never thought and did
not dare to think, and yet she felt it in its force, and knew it well
without a name: that as it looked upon her, seemed to cast a shadow on
her head.

Did he see before him the successful rival of his son, in health and
life? Did he look upon his own successful rival in that son's affection?
Did a mad jealousy and withered pride, poison sweet remembrances that
should have endeared and made her precious to him? Could it be possible
that it was gall to him to look upon her in her beauty and her promise:
thinking of his infant boy!

Florence had no such thoughts. But love is quick to know when it is
spurned and hopeless: and hope died out of hers, as she stood looking in
her father's face.

'I ask you, Florence, are you frightened? Is there anything the matter,
that you come here?'

'I came, Papa--'

'Against my wishes. Why?'

She saw he knew why: it was written broadly on his face: and dropped her
head upon her hands with one prolonged low cry.

Let him remember it in that room, years to come. It has faded from
the air, before he breaks the silence. It may pass as quickly from his
brain, as he believes, but it is there. Let him remember it in that
room, years to come!

He took her by the arm. His hand was cold, and loose, and scarcely
closed upon her.

'You are tired, I daresay,' he said, taking up the light, and leading
her towards the door, 'and want rest. We all want rest. Go, Florence.
You have been dreaming.'

The dream she had had, was over then, God help her! and she felt that it
could never more come back.

'I will remain here to light you up the stairs. The whole house is
yours above there,' said her father, slowly. 'You are its mistress now.
Good-night!'

Still covering her face, she sobbed, and answered 'Good-night, dear
Papa,' and silently ascended. Once she looked back as if she would have
returned to him, but for fear