after a sultry day Father was quieter than usual, and seemed very
languid. Ernest who, out of regard to Martha's last evening at home,
had joined our little circle, ob served this, and said, cheerfully:

"You will feel better as soon as you are once more out of the city,
father."

Father made no reply for some minutes, and when he did speak we were
all startled to find that his voice trembled as if he were shedding
tears. We could not understand what he said. I went to him and made
him lean his head upon me as he often did when it ached. He took my
hand in both his.

"You do love the old man a little?" he asked, in the same tremulous
voice.

"Indeed, I do!" I cried, greatly touched by his helpless appeal, "I
love you dearly, father. And I shall miss you sadly."

"Must I go away then?" he whispered. "Cannot I stay here till my
summons hence? It will not be long, it will not be long, my child."

With the cry of a hurt animal, Martha sprang up and rushed past us
into the house. Ernest followed her, and we heard them talking
together a long time. At last Ernest joined us.

"Father," he said, "Martha is a good deal wounded and disappointed,
at your reluctance to, go with her She threatened to break off her
engagement rather than to be separated from you. I really think you
would be better off with her than with us. You would enjoy country