beyond mortal question.

There was, in fact, but one member of the household he did not
exclusively claim. This was the married daughter, Salina, whose life had
been embittered by a truant husband,--no other, in fact, than the erring
son of the worthy Mrs. Sprowl. The day when the infatuated girl made a
marriage so much beneath the family dignity, Toby, in great grief and
indignation, gave her up. "I washes my hands ob her! she ain't no more a
chile ob mine!" said the old servant, passionately weeping, as if the
washing of his hands was to be literal, and no other fluid would serve
his dark purpose but tears. And when, after Sprowl's desertion of her,
she returned, humiliated and disgraced, to her father's house,--that is
to say, Toby's house,--Toby had compassion on her, and took her in, but
never set up any claim to her again.

"Where is Carl? Hasn't Carl come yet?" asked a sweet but very anxious
voice. And Virginia, the youngest daughter, stood in the kitchen door.

"He hain't come yet, Miss Jinny; dat ar a fact!" said Toby. "'Pears like
somefin's hap'en'd to dat ar boy. I neber knowed him stay out so, when
dar's any eatin' gwine on,--for he's a master hand for his supper, dat
boy ar! Laws, I hain't forgot how he laid in de vittles de fust night
Massa Penn fetched him hyar! He was right hungry, he was, and he took
holt powerful! 'I neber can keep dat ar boy in de world,' says I; 'he'll
eat me clar out o' house an' home!' says I. But, arter all, it done my
ol' heart good to see him put in, ebery ting 'peared to taste so d'effle
good to him!" And Toby chuckled at the reminiscence.

"My daughter," said Mr. Villars, softly.

She was already standing behind his chair, and her trembling little
hands were smoothing his brow, and her earnest face was looking pale and
abstracted over him. He could not see her face, but he knew by her touch
that the tender act was done some how mechanically to-night, and that
she was thinking of other things. She started as he spoke, and, bending
over him, kissed his white forehead.

"I suspect," he went on, "that you know more of Carl than we do. Has he
gone on some errand of yours?"

"I will tell you, father!" It seemed as if her feelings had been long
repressed, and it was a relief for her to speak at last. "Carl came to
me, and said there was some mischief intended towards Penn. This was
long before dark. And he asked permission to go and see what it was. I
said, 'Go, but come righ