Note: Images of the original pages are available through the Digital Library of the Falvey Memorial Library, Villanova University. See http://digital.library.villanova.edu/Item/vudl:322376 Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). LITTLE GOLDEN'S DAUGHTER CONTENTS CHAPTER I. CHAPTER II. CHAPTER III. CHAPTER IV. CHAPTER V. CHAPTER VI. CHAPTER VII. CHAPTER VIII. CHAPTER IX. CHAPTER X. CHAPTER XI. CHAPTER XII. CHAPTER XIII. CHAPTER XIV. CHAPTER XV. CHAPTER XVI. CHAPTER XVII. CHAPTER XVIII. CHAPTER XIX. CHAPTER XX. CHAPTER XXI. CHAPTER XXII. CHAPTER XXIII. CHAPTER XXIV. CHAPTER XXV. CHAPTER XXVI. CHAPTER XXVII. CHAPTER XXVIII. CHAPTER XXIX. CHAPTER XXX. CHAPTER XXXI. CHAPTER XXXII. CHAPTER XXXIII. CHAPTER XXXIV. CHAPTER XXXV. CHAPTER XXXVI. CHAPTER XXXVII. CHAPTER XXXVIII. CHAPTER XXXIX. CHAPTER XL. CHAPTER XLI. CHAPTER XLII. CHAPTER XLIII. CHAPTER XLIV. CHAPTER XLV. CHAPTER XLVI. CHAPTER XLVII. CHAPTER XLVIII. CHAPTER XLIX. LITTLE GOLDEN'S DAUGHTER Or The Dream of a Life Time by MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER Author of "Little Coquette Bonnie," "The Senator's Bride," "Brunette and Blonde," etc. New York The American News Company Publishers' Agents 39-41 Chambers Street Copyright, 1883, Norman L. Munro. Copyright 1901, By Street & Smith Little Golden's Daughter LITTLE GOLDEN'S DAUGHTER; OR, _The Dream of Her Life-Time_. By MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER. CHAPTER I. Beautiful Golden Glenalvan stood by the willow-bordered lake and looked into its azure depths with a dreamy light in her pansy-blue eyes. She had been singing as she danced along the sunny path, but the sweet song died on the coral lips as she came to the little lake with its green fringe of willows and the white lilies sleeping on its breast. The wind as it sighed through the trees, and the low, soft ripple of the water, always sounded sad to Golden. It seemed to her vivid fancy that the wind and the waves were trying to tell her some sad story in a language she could not understand. She was unconsciously saddened whenever she came to its banks and listened to the low, soft murmur. It had a tragic story to tell her, indeed, but its language was too mysterious for her to understand. Some day she would know. The afternoon sunshine threw the long, slanting shadows of old Glenalvan Hall far across the level greensward almost to the border of the lake. It had once been a fine and stately mansion, picturesque and pretentious, with many peaks and gables and oriel windows. But its ancient glory had long departed. It seemed little more than a picturesque, ivy-covered ruin now. But there still remained in one wing a few habitable apartments that were fine and large, and lofty. Here the last of the Glenalvans--once a proud and wealthy race--dwelt in respectable, shabby-genteel poverty.