John Legg arose and went to meet her with trembling nerves and outstretched arms. He was but a little over fifty years of age, yet for the last few hours he looked to be over seventy. “My dear, dear Lyddy! My own poor child!” he said, drawing her to his breast and holding her there, while he put out his hand to his son and said: “How do you do, Clay?” “I am well, sir, thank you. How do you do yourself?” inquired the dutiful son in an offhand, nonchalant manner. “As you see me, Clay. Not very well,” replied the grieved father, as he sank into a large cushioned chair that his wife had pushed up to him, and drew his daughter down upon his lap with her head against his shoulder, where she lay sobbing her soul forth in pride and anger—not in love or sorrow. She had not spoken one word as yet since she entered the room. Clay Legg, as we must henceforth call him, because it is his only right name, threw himself into another armchair and said: “I am told, sir, that you have something to communicate to us.” “Yes, I have, Clay. Do not cry so. Lyddy, my dear. I will stand by you. Your father will stand by his daughter, and love her and comfort her, and shelter and protect her against all the world,” he said, turning away from his insolent son and bending over his wildly hysterical daughter. “Well, sir,” said Mr. Clay Legg, “since you have something to communicate, hadn’t you better communicate it?” “Yes,” replied his father, with a sigh. “But first,” exclaimed Clay Legg, “here is a stranger present. Are we to discuss private family affairs before a stranger? And who is that person, anyway?” he demanded, jerking his thumb in the direction of Mrs. Legg, who had retired to a short distance and where she sat down. “Oh, I ought to beg her pardon! For the moment I forgot. Julia, my love, will you step this way?” Mrs. Legg came promptly at her husband’s request, and stood before the group. “My dear Julia, this young man here is my son, Clay, whom you have never seen before. Clay, this is Mrs. Legg, my wife, your new mother. I hope you will be the best of friends!” pleaded the husband and father. “Indeed, I hope so, too!” earnestly responded the new wife, as she held out her hand with hearty good will to her stepson. He drew himself up stiffly and bowed, ignoring her offered hand. John Legg noticed his manner and frowned with pain, not anger, and to cover the awkwardness, said: “And this weeping girl on my bosom is my daughter, Lydia! She cannot speak to you yet, my dear. She has not even spoken to me, her father, whom she has not seen before for the last three years! But she will be better presently, and then I feel sure that you and she at least will be good friends.” “Yes, indeed, John! I know we shall!” heartily responded Julia.