"Poor papa!" said Henrietta to Daniel. "There are moments when I tremble
for his mind."

At last, one evening after dinner, when he had drunk more than usually,
perhaps in order to gain courage, he drew his daughter on his knee, and
said in his softest voice,--

"Confess, my dear child, that in your innermost heart you have more than
once called me a very bad father. I dare say you blame me for leaving
you so constantly alone here in this large house, where you must die
from sheer weariness."

Such a charge would have been but too well founded. Henrietta was
left more completely to herself than the daughter of a workman, whose
business keeps him from home all day long. The workman, however, takes
his child out, at least on Sundays.

"I am never weary, papa," replied Henrietta.

"Really? Why, how do you occupy yourself?"

"Oh! in the first place I attend to the housekeeping, and try my best
to make home pleasant to you. Then I embroider, I sew, I study. In the
afternoon my music-teacher comes, and my English master. At night I
read."

The count smiled; but it was a forced smile.

"Never mind!" he broke in; "such a lonely life cannot go on. A girl