“Well, but _with_ their knowledge and consent,” urged the young man. “They will never, _never_ give it, Ronald! Your family are too proud to consent to receive the daughter of a poor overseer as a relative. And _my_ family are much too proud to permit their daughter to enter any household where she would not be most welcome.” “But, Em., what in the Blue Dees do you mean? Is the wicked, diabolical pride of your old folks and mine to interfere with our lives, so as to make us both miserable all our days?” “I don’t know, Ronald; but we must do what is right.” Ronald’s impatient reply was checked by the entrance of Commodore Bruce, who greeted his nephew and the young girl kindly, and then growled as usual at the _punctual unpunctuality_ of the ladies of his household. “You can never rely on them but for one thing, and that is for always being behind time. Ah! here they are at last!” The ladies entered, interchanged the morning salutations, and then they all went to breakfast. It was not until they were all seated at the table that Commodore Bruce missed Mrs. Warde, and said: “Well, how is Malvina? Is she not sufficiently recovered from her hysterics yet to come down?” “Mamma does not feel strong enough to rise this morning, but she will try to join us at dinner in the evening,” Belinda explained. The breakfast was then discussed, and when it was over and the family party arose from the table, Em. was about to leave the room when again the old commodore stopped her, saying: “My dear, don’t run away! I want you to finish reading the papers for me, and I will promise not to go to sleep. I never go to sleep in the forenoon, however.” Em. looked at Mrs. Bruce for directions. “Go with the commodore, child,” said that lady condescendingly. Em. followed the old man to the library, where he seated himself in his easy-chair, lay back at rest, and pointed to another chair, telling Em. to draw it up, seat herself and commence reading. Em. obeyed him and spent the whole forenoon in perusing the papers. It was nearly two o’clock when she got through. “Well, now, my dear, you have given me a great deal of pleasure, and I thank you; but I will not trouble you again until Friday. The mails come in but twice a week to Greyrock—on Tuesdays and Fridays. Then I get my papers, and you shall read them to me. Go now and take a run in the fresh air until luncheon. Young blood requires a great deal of oxygen. Go.” Em. wished to say something, but could not think what. She turned to go; then looked over her shoulder, and seeing the pale, gray, feeble old man, with his chin bowed upon his breast in an attitude of depression, weakness and sorrow, her heart was filled with compassionate tenderness for him, and she lingered, looking lovingly on him.