"Very well," the girl answered, scowling behind her hand, for she preferred to go alone on her mission to Granny Jenks. But she realized that it would not do to offend the only person who seemed to have any real fondness for her, so, making a wry face behind her hand, she went up to Mrs. Clarke, saying gently: "I did not mean to be cross to you, dear mamma, but I am in such agony with this pain that I could not help my impatience. I want you to forgive me and try not to love me any less for my faults, please." Mrs. Clarke could not help wondering what favor Roma was planning to ask for now, but she answered sweetly: "I forgive you, dear, and, of course, I shall always love my daughter." "But papa does not love me much. I often meet his glance fixed on me in cold disapproval, and at times he is very stern to me!" complained Roma. "That must be your fancy, dear. He could not help loving you, his own daughter, dearly and fondly," soothed the lady, though she knew that she had herself noticed and complained of the same thing in her husband. "You do not love Roma as I do," she had said to him, reproachfully, many times, getting always an evasive, unsatisfactory reply. So she could not offer her much comfort on this score; she could only put her arm about the form of the arch traitress, murmuring kind, tender words, actually getting in return a loving caress that surprised her very much, it was so unusual. But Roma for the first time in her life comprehended the necessity of fortifying her position by a staunch ally like her mother. "I will go back to my room now. I must not keep you up any longer in the cold, dear, patient mamma," she cried gushingly, as she kissed her and left the room. Mrs. Clarke was grateful for the caress, but she retired to bed with the firm conviction that it would take a very large check indeed to gratify Roma's desires in Boston to-morrow. Her affectionate spells were always very costly to her parents. "Do you think I had better take the second dose of that sedative? I am very nervous from my sudden awakening, and wish we had locked the door on retiring," her husband said petulantly. "It would be very unkind to lock the door on our own daughter. Roma was just now lamenting your sternness and lack of love and sympathy," returned the lady. Edmund Clarke stifled an imprecation between his teeth, then demanded earnestly: "Have I ever failed in love and sympathy to you, dear Elinor?" "Never, my darling husband," she answered, fondly clasping his hand. "And never will my love fail you, dearest; but I cannot say as much for Roma, whose nature is so unlike yours that I confess she repels instead of attracts me," he exclaimed, reaching out for the medicine and exclaiming impatiently on finding the glass broken and the draught lost. Ah, how nearly it had been a fatal draught, had not Heaven interposed to save his life! As he set it back on the table, he added: