“Yes; but notwithstanding all that, I had set my face against the affair, both for the reasons I have explained—her want of rank and fortune—and also because I wished to bring about a marriage between Ronald Bruce and his Cousin Hermia, who, failing you, would have been my co-heirs. But, bless you, the mutinous young dog would have defied me, and disinherited himself, by marrying the girl long ago, if it had not happened that her father was too proud to permit his daughter to marry into a family where she was not wanted, and the girl herself was too pious to disobey her father. So, you see, the whole affair turned upon the pivot of my will, and the rebellious young rascal was forced to obey me, whether he would or no. However, in my joy and gratitude at the news of your arrival, my son, I told the young rebel that he might marry his love if he wanted to, that I had withdrawn my opposition to his marriage, and now I have sent him to bring the pretty child here to her benefactress—your Emolyn. Not much magnanimity in that, however, for now that your joyful return has changed the face of affairs, so that Ronald is no longer my heir, of course I have no longer any right to pretend to control his freedom of action, or even any farther interest in trying to promote a marriage between him and his cousin. So I withdraw my opposition to his union with this child, and as her father has now no excuse for withholding his consent, I suppose he will give it. But whatever they will have to live on except his pay I don’t know, unless indeed your Emolyn should choose to endow her adopted child. She could do so. She is fabulously rich. But here we are at her door. There is no one but the old colored housekeeper watching her now, so we may enter.” They went into the room together. It was in semi-darkness, for the better repose of the sleeper. But the afternoon sun, shining against the heavy crimson curtains of the front windows facing the west, threw a deep, somber, ruddy glow over the richly furnished chamber, and even lent a little color to the marble face of her who lay in deep repose upon the white bed. The old commodore went up to the bedside, followed by Lonny. The colored nurse respectfully arose from her seat, and with a courtesy yielded her place to her master. “You may go now, Liddy. I will ring when we want you,” said the latter. With another courtesy the woman turned and left the room. “Sit you here yourself, Lonny,” said the commodore, pointing to the chair by the side of the bed, which had just been vacated by the nurse. Lonny, who was at that moment standing at the head of the bed gazing anxiously down on the still, pale face of the sleeper, now almost breathlessly inquired: “Is she well, do you think?”