ime to lean upon his arm, and therefore he could not feel
her hand tremble; and he was too generous and too kind to look into
her face; but he knew that he had touched the fibres of her heart,
and that all her presence of mind had for the moment fled from her.
Of course such was the case, and of course he knew it. Had he not
brought her out there, that they might be alone together when he
subjected her to the violence of this shower-bath?

"Yes," he continued, "that was written by our friend Graham. Do you
remember, Madeline, the conversation which you and I had about him in
the library some time since?"

"Yes," she said, "she remembered it."

"And so do I," said the judge, "and have thought much about it since.
A very clever fellow is Felix Graham. There can be no doubt of that."

"Is he?" said Madeline.

I am inclined to think that the judge also had lost something of his
presence of mind, or, at least, of his usual power of conversation.
He had brought his daughter out there with the express purpose of
saying to her a special word or two; he had beat very wide about the
bush with the view of mentioning a certain name; and now that his
daughter was there, and the name had been mentioned, it seemed that
he hardly knew how to proceed.

"Yes, he is clever enough," repeated the judge, "clever enough; and
of high principles and an honest purpose. The fault which people find
with him is this,--that he is not practical. He won't take the world
as he finds it. If he can mend it, well and good; we all ought to do
something to mend it; but while we are mending it we must live in
it."

"Yes, we must live in it," said Madeline, who hardly knew at the
moment whether it would be better to live or die in it. Had her
father remarked that they must all take wings and fly to heaven, she
would have assented.

Then the judge walked on a few paces in silence, bethinking himself
that he might as well speak out at once the words which he had to
say. "Madeline, my darling," said he, "have you the courage to tell
me openly what you think of Felix Graham?"

"What I think of him, papa?"

"Yes, my child. It may be that you are in some difficulty at this
moment, and that I can help you. It may be that your heart is sadder
than it would be if you knew all my thoughts and wishes respecting
you, and all your mother's. I have never had many secrets from my
children, Madeline, and I should be pleased now if you could see into
my mind and