at other times it has been
impossible. Robert is so sweet and tender with me these days that the
mere possibility of having him blame me is the most terrifying thought
which I can have."

"It ought not to be so hard now, dear. Everything is going to be
straightened out. Already the burden is a good deal lighter than before
because now we have something tangible to work upon. This leaves you
simply the one thing to think about, and of course father will believe
everything you tell him."

Eleanor looked at Alice irresolutely. "It isn't in the nature of man to
be so credulous--I doubt if I would believe the story myself if I heard
any one else tell it. Under these circumstances, how can I expect more
from your father?"

"Because it is--father," the girl replied, feelingly "--because he's the
grandest, noblest, truest man who ever lived; because he loves you,
Eleanor; and because he believes in you as he believes in himself."

"If I did not know of this belief in me, Alice dear, and was not so
jealous of it, perhaps I should not fear to bring the matter to the
test. But, of course, you are right. He must know the whole story, and
he must know it from me. I only hope that the opportunity may offer
itself naturally for me to tell him, under such conditions as will make
it appear less incredible than it does just now."

"It doesn't seem to me that that ought to enter into it at all," Alice
continued, quietly. "Even if you knew that it would destroy this belief,
you could do nothing else than tell him, could you, Eleanor? There could
be nothing good come from anything kept from father."

Eleanor felt reproached by the faith which the girl exhibited. "I have
done it to spare him," she urged. "If there had been anything in the
experience of which I need feel ashamed, I should have felt it
necessary to let him know it before we were married. I thought it all
over then, and decided it was wiser not to bring the matter up. It was
weak and cowardly not to do it, I can see that now, but at the time I
thought I was acting for the best."

"If father were to tell you something about his life which seemed
incredible, and which might be misinterpreted into something
dishonorable to him, would you believe his version of it?"

"Implicitly," Eleanor replied, with much feeling.

"Then do you think he is less loving or less tender or has less faith
than you, Eleanor?"

"Not that, dear," Eleanor replied; "but he is a man, and a man'