"My baby, your father is well and has sent you a present. Come to me, darling; I want to talk to you." She drew her to her lap and held her close. "We know, of course, your father dearly loves his daughter, but he is often very lonely, and as he cannot have you with him, what would you think if you heard he had married a lady who would be kind and good to him? Don't you----" "I know that would be a lie--a wicked lie! Why do you say such horrible things and hurt me so?" She threw off the clasping arm and sprang to the floor, stamping the tiles with her right foot. "My precious baby, I would not hurt you for a million of dollars! You know your Lila loves you better than everything else in the world. I would rather hold my hand in the fire than tell you a painful thing if it could be helped. But somebody must speak the truth to you." She knelt down by the indignant child and kissed her hot cheek twice. "My darling, it is true--positively true--that your father was married some days ago. Now, you must not struggle to get away from me. Listen, and let me explain it all." "Don't! I won't listen. I can't--wait--wait--" She went to the seat along the wall and threw herself face downward, crossing her arms over her head. She lay so still that a quarter of an hour later Eliza sat down beside her, and while her hand softly stroked the brown curls, she read slowly the description of church wedding and subsequent reception. "My darling, you love your father so well you want him to be happy, and----" "No, not with another wife, and away from me. I would rather he was dead--for then nobody else could claim him. Two wives! It is like having two Gods." Taking the papers, she read the marked paragraphs, and though neither sob nor tear betrayed the intensity of her sorrow, one little hand caught at her throat, where a stricture seemed to stifle her. "You must try to bear this trouble patiently." "I can't. I would not bear it at all, if I could help myself. Now I am an orphan! An orphan!" "Not while I live to love you. Look at this parcel, your father's present." Eliza unwrapped the paper and took out an oblong gilded box, to which was fastened a card: "For our dear little daughter Eglah, with love of her father and mother." The child glanced at the handwriting and her eyes seemed almost to take fire. She snatched the box and threw it to the floor. "It is not mine; I have no father and no mother. I have only Ma-Lila left!" She buried her face in Eliza's lap, and hoping a burst of tears would relieve the strain, the nurse silently caressed her, waiting for the storm to break; but save the trembling of the figure no sign was given. After a while, Eliza whispered, "Grandmother is coming down the walk." Eglah started up as if electrified, and lifted the box from the floor, holding it against her breast. Leaning on her cane, Mrs. Maurice came to the table, sat down, and opened her arms. "My dear child, come here."