recollections revived by it, were such as to cause him to accept with gratitude the ugly seam that now disfigured him, but would thenceforth probably divert the attention of inquisitive persons from his other physical defect. Mark wrote to Edna in a pleasant, jesting way concerning the embellishment his countenance had undergone. He promised to send her a likeness of his improved appearance at the first opportunity, and alluded to the wound he had received from the rebel trooper as a mere pin scratch in comparison with the one inflicted by her on his heart, with much more to the same purpose, and signed himself "Le Balafré." Edna was pleased to find that he took it all in such good part, and replied beseeching him not to expose himself so rashly--she was certain he was rash and reckless, and for her sake to be cautious and prudent, ending with the hope that the war would soon end, and enable him to return home. Beside her solicitude for Mark, the girl's thoughts were greatly occupied with her father's changed health and habits. Despite his cold, undemonstrative temperament, Mr. Heath was strongly attached to his child. If his manifestations of affection had been few and far between, on the other hand he had never chidden her, and she had been indulged in every way, and her lightest wishes gratified. The daughter more than reciprocated the love so charily bestowed, and her impressionable nature seemed to reflect her father's changeful moods. Now her intuition told her that he suffered. He had not been the same man since the death of his son. At times he shook off his despondency, and appeared to regain some of his former energy; but the effort was but momentary. His business matters were now entirely conducted by others, and he even grew neglectful of his personal appearance--a symptom that struck Edna with alarm. One morning when he breakfasted with the family in his dressing-gown and with an unshaven face, Edna, after he had left the table, remarked to her aunt on the great alteration in her father's habits: "I never knew him to do such a thing before. Yesterday afternoon I saw him go into the picture-gallery, and I went in very soon after. He was staring fixedly at that picture of the Sistine Madonna, and did not notice my coming in. When I went and spoke to him he started with such a pained expression that it made me feel dreadful." "My dear child," said Mrs. Applegate in a reassuring tone, "you must bear in mind that your father is getting old. You can't expect him always to remain smart and active. Years will tell on all of us. Besides, everybody has something the matter with them; if it isn't one thing it's another. Now Mr. Applegate used to say that gout or rheumatism was more certain if not so desirable as riches, and I know that years before he died--"