Commodore Bruce and Dr. Willet sat together at some little distance from the other two, and somewhat nearer to Em., very gravely conversing, their gray heads bent closely together, the doctor pointing his arguments, whatever they were, with his right forefinger on his left palm; the commodore listening solemnly, nodding from time to time, and taking countless pinches of snuff. A few words of their discourse necessarily reached Em.’s ears. “He _must_ hear it some time or other,” said Dr. Willet. “True, true; most true”—from the commodore, with a nod, a sigh, and a huge pinch of snuff. “He will bear it better now, perhaps, than at any other time.” “Humph, perhaps, you know best.” “If you authorize me, I will myself take the disagreeable task off your hands and be his informant.” “Yes, yes, doctor, do! I could never tell him myself! Never!” While the two old men were still conversing, Em. turned her eyes from them and fixed them upon her parents. At the same instant Emolyn Bruce looked up and met her daughter’s gaze. The lady smiled and opened her arms. Em. arose and crossed the room and gave herself to that fond embrace. “Now we know the reason why we loved each other so, my darling, don’t we?” murmured the lady, as she folded her daughter to her bosom. “Yes, dear mamma, yes, for my heart was drawn to you from the very first moment I saw you. I longed for you to love me then,” answered Em., returning love for love and kiss for kiss. “Your papa, my dear,” whispered Emolyn, in a low tone. Em. raised her head from the lady’s bosom to see bending over them both, the dark, handsome man whose very portrait she had worshiped long before she had ever seen him. “Have you no place left in your heart for me, little daughter?” inquired the stranger, as he drew the girl to his bosom and pressed his lips to hers. “I loved you long before I ever saw you, dear papa,” whispered Em., half shyly, half fondly. “How is that, my little girl? You loved me before you ever saw me?” inquired the pleased young papa. “Yes—and even before I ever _heard_ of you,” said Em. “Explain,” said the object of this strange affection, with a smile and a caress. “Well, I found your portrait in the attic at The Breezes, and I set it up in my room as an object of worship, having been struck with it before I knew to whom it belonged.” “Who will say now that there is no instinct in natural affection?” demanded Leonidas. That question was unanswerable; but after a little while Em. turned to her mamma and asked another. “So it was for your lost child you always provided a yearly outfit of dainty clothing?” “Yes, love; it was a fond, foolish fancy of mine; but not without benefit to others, since at the end of every year I gave away the raiment to those who needed it.” At this moment Dr. Willet came up to the group, and laying his hand on the shoulder of the last speaker, said gravely: