her thrust out from the shelter of your home to walk through this evil
world alone. I will consider your proposal, and endeavor to devise some
future for the child which shall set your heart at rest. But before you
urge this further, let, me tell you that I am not what you think me.
I am a cold, selfish man, often, gloomy, often stern,--a most unfit
guardian for a tender creature like this little girl. The deeds of mine
which you call kind are not true charities; it frets me to see pain,
and I desire my ease above all earthly things. You are grateful for
the little I have done for you, and deceive yourself regarding my true
worth; but of one thing you may rest assured,--I am an honest man, who
holds his name too high to stain it with a false word or a dishonorable
deed."

"I do believe you, Sir," Jean answered, eagerly. "And if I left the
child to you, I could die this night in peace. Indeed, Sir, I never
should have dared to speak of this, but for the belief that you loved
the girl. What else could I think, when you came so often and were so
kind to us?"

"I cannot blame you, Jean; it was my usual forgetfulness of others which
so misled you. I was tired of the world, and came hither to find peace
in solitude. Effie cheered me with her winsome ways, and I learned to
look on her as the blithe spirit whose artless wiles won me to forget a
bitter past and a regretful present." I paused; and then added, with a
smile, "But, in our wise schemes, we have overlooked one point: Effie
does not love me, and may decline the future you desire me to offer
her."

A vivid hope lit those dim eyes, as Jean met my smile with one far
brighter, and joyfully replied,--