"You have touched the point that constitutes my greatest worry and perplexity," answered Mrs. Dering, quite unconscious of the thoughts in his mind. "Jean is so delicate and frail that she requires constant attention; she is a child, and must be amused, and because of her affliction she can never be unattended. I have always taught her, and being fond of her books, she is much farther advanced than most children of her age, and I regret beyond all expression that she will have to fall behind now, she----" "No, she won't," cried Mr. Congreve, who had been growing more excited as the speech progressed, and who now jumped out of his chair with every indication of breaking into a jig. "I assure you she won't, only let me have her; she shall have the best governess and attendant that money can bring. Every luxury and comfort that can be thought of, every wish gratified as soon as expressed and I--I--" He was obliged to stop to get his breath, and grow a little more quiet, for Mrs. Dering was leaning back in her chair, quite white with amaze and contending emotions; so Mr. Congreve settled abruptly into a chair and smoothed his voice and manner down several degrees. "I didn't mean to startle you," he continued. "I know it is sudden and, indeed, I am quite as astonished as you are; I am, indeed; but the moment I looked at the child last night, there was something in her face and manner, that reminded me so strongly of my own little Mabel, that my heart, old and dried up as it is, went right out to her. You know, Elizabeth Dering, how I loved my child. She would have been a woman now had she lived, but the Lord saw fit to take her, and--and--I--where's my snuff-box?--I suppose, of course, 'twas best; but here's your little one, yours and Robert's, afflicted like my little Mabel, and I am able to do everything by her that the sick and afflicted need. She shall travel, have the best of medical attention, and if the dear good Lord sees fit, perhaps she may be cured." His fierce gray eyes were completely softened and full of tears, and the way that scarlet handkerchief flew about would have puzzled the closest watcher, but Mrs. Dering saw nothing, heard nothing but his last words:--"perhaps she may be cured." Almost unconsciously she stood up and held out her hands. "Oh, Mr. Congreve, do you mean it, indeed?" "God bless my soul! mean it? Yes, I do, indeed. I do, with all my heart. I'll feel like there was something for me to live longer for, and it will put new, strong life into my dried-up old being, to see a child's sunny face around my quiet home and to know that it is for her good that I live. Ha! mean it? Yes, my dear madam; I should rather say I did mean it."