“She will find out better about that before long,” he answered, decisively, though the curious paleness of last night settled again upon his handsome face. He went over and stood by Cinthia’s side. “It will snow before to-morrow,” he said, quietly. “Yes;” and she looked around at him with a flushed face, crying: “Oh, papa, you were jesting?” “No. I can not give you to Arthur Varian, Cinthia. You must forget him, my dear child.” “I can not, will not! I should die without him!” passionately. “No, no, you will soon get over this fancy, for you have known Mr. Varian but a little time, and to-morrow I shall take you away from this place, and amid new surroundings you will forget the face that dazzled you here.” “I will never forget Arthur, nor will I go away!” she protested. “You can not set at naught a father’s authority, Cinthia.” “I disclaim it, I defy it! You have given me neither love nor care, so you forfeit every right! Oh, I am sorry you ever came back here!” stormed the angry girl. “Cinthy, Cinthy, come and help me with the work!” her aunt called, sharply; and she left him with the mien of an offended princess. He took refuge in a cigar, and smoked moodily, till the click of the gate-latch made him look up, with a face working with emotion, at a handsome, elegantly clad young man walking up to the door. Cinthia had gone upstairs to make the beds, and her aunt went to admit the caller. In a minute she ushered him into the little sitting-room, saying nervously: “Mr. Varian--my brother, Mr. Dawn.” CHAPTER VII. “THE FATES FORBID IT.” Arthur Varian gave a slight start of surprise as he was presented to Mr. Dawn, but the latter, more prepared for the encounter, bowed with gracious courtesy, frankly shook hands with the visitor, and pushed forward a chair. Then they looked at each other silently a moment, and that glance prepossessed each in favor of the other--a natural sequence for Arthur, since he guessed that his new acquaintance must be Cinthia’s father. They conversed several moments on indifferent subjects, both rather grave and constrained, with a feeling of something serious in the air, then Arthur came to the point with manly frankness: “I have found you here most opportunely this morning, Mr. Dawn. I came to see Mrs. Flint on a particular subject, but of course you are the proper person to consult,” ingratiatingly. “Cinthia has already told me of your suit for her hand, Mr. Varian,” gently helping him out, as if anxious for it to be over. “You know, then, that I love your daughter--that she has promised me her hand. I can give you every assurance, sir, of my possession of those requisites every good man wishes to find in a suitor for his daughter. I am rich, of the best blood of the South, my character irreproachable. May I hope to have your approval?”