r the
loneliness, the utter barrenness of his drear old age, grows within
her.

Crossing the room with light and noiseless footsteps, treading as
though in the presence of one sick unto death, she comes up to him,
lays her hands upon his shoulders, and stooping, presses her fresh
young lips to his worn and wrinkled forehead.

"Good-bye, grandpapa," she says, softly, kindly. Then, silently, and
without another farewell, she leaves him--forever.

* * * * *

She hardly remembers how she makes the return journey; how she took her
ticket; how cavalierly she received the attentions of the exceedingly
nice young man with flaxen hair suggestive of champagne who _would_ tuck
his railway rug around her, heroically unmindful of the cold that
penetrated his own bones. Such trifling details escaped her then and
afterward, leaving not so much as the smallest track upon her memory.
Yet that yellow-haired young man dreamt of her for a week afterward, and
would not be comforted, although all that could be done by a managing
mother with two marriageable daughters was done to please him and bring
him to see the error of his ways.

All the way home she ponders anxiously as to whether she shall or shall
not reveal to Letitia all that has taken place. To tell her will be
beyond doubt to grieve her; yet not to tell her,--how impossible that
will be! The very intensity of her indignation and scorn creates in her
an imperative desire to open her heart to somebody. And who so sympathetic
as Letitia? And, after all, even if she hides it now, will not Letitia
discover the truth sooner or later? Still----

She has not yet decided on her line of action when Brooklyn is reached.
She is still wavering, even when Letitia, drawing, her into the parlor,
closes the door, and, having kissed her, very naturally says, "Well?"

And Molly says "Well" also, but in a different tone; and then she turns
pale, and then red,--and then she makes up her mind to tell the whole
story.

"What did he want with you?" asks Letitia, while she is still wondering
how she shall begin.

"Very little." Bitterly. "A mere trifle. He only wanted to buy me. He
asked me to sell myself body and soul to him,--putting me at a high
valuation, too, for he offered me Herst in exchange if I would renounce
you and the children."

"Molly!"

"Yes. Just that. Oh, Letty! only a month ago I thought how sweet and
fair and good a thing was life