"Is there any thing you'd like to do, papa dear?" asked she, laying her
forefinger caressingly upon his bald head. "Because if there isn't, I, I
should like--I think I'd better go to Sophie."

Professor Valeyon nodded his head, being in truth desirous of taking
solitary counsel with himself. The letter contained a good deal more
than the invitation he had communicated to Cornelia, and he could not
feel at ease until he had more thoroughly analyzed and digested it. So
when his daughter had vanished through the door, with a smile and a kiss
of the hand, he mounted his spectacles again, and spread the letter open
on his knee.

After reading a while in silence, he spoke; though his voice was audible
only to his own mental ears.

"There was a time," said he, "when I wouldn't have believed I could ever
hear the news of that man's death, and take it so quietly! And now he
sends me his son!--as it were bequeaths him to me. Can it be as a
hostage for forgiveness, though so late? or is it merely because he knew
I could not but feel a vital interest in the boy, and would instruct and
treat him as my own? He was a shrewd judge of human nature--and yet, I
must not judge him harshly now."

Here Professor Valeyon happened again to catch sight of his slipper, and
interrupted his soliloquy to extend his stockinged toe, fork it toward
himself, and having, with some trouble, got it right side uppermost, to
put it on. And then he referred once more to the letter.

"I should like to know whether he was aware that Abbie was here, or that