Curious to relate, a feeling of resentment against the decree that had so long severed her from him rose up in Lesley's heart. It was not exactly a feeling of resentment against her mother. Rather it was a protest against fate--the fate that had made that father a sealed book to her, although known and read of all the world beside. If there _were_ admirable things in his nature, why had she been kept in ignorance of them?--why told the one ugly fact of his life which seemed to throw all the rest into shadow? It was not fair, Lesley very characteristically remarked to herself: it certainly was not fair. If he was so distinguished a man in literature as Maurice Kenyon represented him to be, why had she never been allowed to read his books? She wanted, for the first time, to read something that he had written. She supposed she might; for there was no one now to choose her books for her. Only a day or two before she had dutifully asked her Aunt Sophia if she might read a book that Ethel had lent her (it was the yellow-backed novel, the sight of which had made Maurice so angry), and she had said, with her horrid little laugh--oh, how Lesley hated Aunt Sophy's laugh!---- "Good heavens, child, read what you like! You're old enough!" And Lesley had felt crushed, but resolved to avail herself of the permission. But where should she find her father's works? She would cut out her tongue before she asked Aunt Sophy for them, or her father, or the Kenyons, or Mrs. Romaine. She set to work to search the library shelves, and was soon rewarded by the discovery of a set of _Tribunes_, a weekly paper in which she knew that her father wrote. She turned over the leaves, with a dazed feeling of bewilderment. None of the articles were signed. And she had no clue to those that were written by her father or anybody else. She returned the volumes to their places with a heavy sigh, and continued to look through the shelves--especially through the rows of ponderous quartos and octavos, where she thought that her father's works would probably be found. Simple Lesley! It was quite a shock to her when at last--after she had relinquished her search in heartsick disappointment--she suddenly came across a little paper volume bearing this legend:-- "The Unexplored. By Caspar Brooke. Price One Shilling. Tenth Edition."