“The evidence is conclusive, Mr. Cornelius; and I will now take a fee upon the other side. Let us go at once to her house, and claim not only that, but its fair occupant also.” “No, no, we must meet here. These walls know me; I am at home; and I must receive my daughter in my own house,” said Mr. Cornelius. “You are her best friend—hereafter you shall be mine; do you then call upon her, break this matter gently to her, and in the morning you will find me here, waiting your coming.” “I will not tell her that I have found her father,” said I, “for that would be subjecting her nerves to two trials; and it might be that you would be compelled to go to her in the end, with a physician at your back. It is better that she should be made to expect one good fortune, and find another; so, I will tell her that you relented, discontinued your suit from sheer pity, and wish to make her a present equal in value to the amount which was involved in the dispute between you, as a small compensation for the trouble you have given her.” “As you please,” said Mr. Cornelius, smiling, no doubt at the improbability of the story. “Never fear, a woman’s faith is large enough to believe any thing,” said I, not wishing to be misunderstood; and the miser now rose, and accompanied me to the door. SECTION IX. In the morning, the young widow and myself walked slowly along toward her father’s residence; I, more than half ashamed of the deception I had put upon her; and she, wondering at the fortune which had poured a golden shower into her lap, and framing thanks to be heaped upon the good man, who had threatened poverty only to bestow riches. At the door she hesitated, and said that I must speak for her. “Never mind,” said I, “nature will put fit words into your mouth, and some things are best expressed by silence.” We entered—the widow hanging upon my arm; her whole weight was upon it—not very large, indeed—for she was ready to sink down, oppressed with a load of gratitude. John Cornelius sat where I had found him the preceding evening, at the little, table covered with papers, in the centre of the room, and with one vacant chair. Well, thought I, we shall not want a third. He rose with much coldness in his manner, bowed formally, took his daughter’s hand, and assisted her to the vacant seat; he then gave me that which he had himself occupied.