To snatch up the note and hide it in my bosom, was an act as instinctive as the beating of my heart. It was my father, then, from whose scorching gaze I had been shrinking with such unutterable dread and loathing,--the being whom she had once so idolatrously loved, whom in spite of her wrongs she continued to love,--the being who had destroyed her peace, broken her heart, and laid her in a premature grave--the being whom her dying lips commanded me to forgive, whom her prophetic dream warned me to protect from unknown danger. My father! I had imagined him dead, so many years had elapsed since my mother's flight. I had thought of him as a fabulous being. I dreamed not of encountering him, and if I had, I should have felt secure, for how could he recognize _me_? My father! cold and sick I turned away, shivering with indescribable apprehension. He had destroyed my mother,--he had come to destroy me. That secret note,--that note which I was to conceal, or meet so awful a penalty, seemed to scorch the bosom that throbbed wildly against its folds. All that I have described occurred in the space of a few moments. Before Ernest returned, the stranger had resumed his seat,--(I cannot, oh, I cannot call him _father_,)--and there was no apparent cause for my unconquerable emotion. Meg, who was laughing and talking with her companions, had observed nothing. The secret was safe, on which I was told two lives depended. Two,--I might say _three_, since one was the life of Ernest. I attempted to take the glass of water, but my hand shook so I could not hold it. I dared not look in the face of Ernest, lest he should read in mine all that had occurred. "What is the matter?" he asked, anxiously. "Gabriella, has any thing alarmed you during my absence?" "The odor of the gas sickens me," I answered, evading the question; "if you are willing, I should like to return home." "You seem strangely affected in crowds," said he, in an undertone, and bending on me a keen, searching glance. "I remember on commencement day you were similarly agitated." "I do indeed seem destined to suffer on such occasions," I answered, a sharp pang darting through my heart. I read suspicion in his altered countenance. The flower leaves were beginning to wither. "If Miss Melville is willing, I should like to return." "What is that you say about going home?" cried Meg, turning quickly round. "What in the world is this, Gabriella? You look as if you had seen a ghost!" "Whatever she has seen, it is probable you have been equally favored, Miss Melville, since you were together," said Ernest, in the same cold undertone. The orchestra was playing a magnificent overture, there was laughter and merriment around us, so the conversation in our box was not over-heard. "I!" exclaimed Meg. "I have not seen any thing but one sociable looking neighbor. I should not wonder if his eyes had blistered her face, they have been glowing on her so intensely."