They both watched the stage in silence for some moments, then she startled him by saying: “I believe my kind friend Madame Ray would help me to become an actress if I insist upon it. Would you consent?” “Certainly not. I have other plans for you,” he answered, with instant decision. “But, I can not bear the idea of that boarding-school! I give you fair notice that I am likely to run away from it and drown myself.” “Poor Cinthia, poor unhappy child!” and his voice grew suddenly deep and tender, while he gazed with dim eyes at her flushed, defiant face. A great pity and sympathy rose in his heart for the hapless girl whose life was blighted in its dawning by a hopeless love. He said to himself that he must rise superior to the self-absorption of years and give time and thought to brightening his daughter’s life. Perhaps she might turn out more lovable than he had ever dared hope; but even if not, there was his neglected duty staring him in the face. He could not shirk it any longer, now that Cinthia had cut adrift from the old life, and had no one to depend on but him. He must win her from the despair and desperation of her present mood to contentment with life. Speaking very gently and kindly, he said: “If you think you can not endure the school, I must make other plans for you. How would you like to travel awhile?” Her dark eyes gleamed with sudden interest, and she cried, quickly: “It would please me more than anything else you can offer. I tell you frankly that I am wretched, and that change of scene and constant excitement offer the only panacea for my troubles.” “You shall have it; and I pray Heaven it may effect a cure. Listen, Cinthia, I have very agreeable news for you.” She looked at him with a slightly incredulous air, and he continued: “A relative of ours has recently left you a small fortune, that will enable you to lead a very pleasant future life according to your own wishes. I am appointed your guardian, and you will have an income of ten thousand a year.” “Ten thousand a year!” gasped Cinthia, in surprise and delight at her good luck, for it seemed a great fortune to one who had been reared so plainly and frugally. She was young and beautiful and always longed for the pleasures that money could buy, and the sudden news that she was to realize her dream did indeed dazzle her so that a smile came to her sad lips and a flash of pleasure to her eyes. Her father thought, cynically: “Her sorrow did not lie so deep after all, and it will easily be soothed by the gewgaws foolish women prize. Well, I am glad that it is so.” He resumed, cordially: “I am glad of this good luck for you, Cinthia, for I have never been rich myself, and my income has never been more than half what yours is now, and that was earned by diligent practice at the law. I had intended to do my best toward brightening your sad young life, but this legacy comes most opportunely to enable you to gratify your desires.”