Mr. Delancey looked anxiously to note the progress his daughter had made in the viands before her. "Don't do anything _outre_ in public, Della, no matter what you are obliged to do in private." "No, papa." "I want to see you very perfect in all things,--in all things, Della--do you understand?" "Yes, papa." "Make it your aim to be everything a young lady can be. Remember you are all the child that's left me now. All my hopes are upon you--try never, never to disappoint me!" Mr. Delancey rarely spoke so feelingly--it was a rare manner for him, and the effect of his words was very strange. Della's elegantly embroidered kerchief was clasped suddenly to her face, and she burst into a violent fit of weeping. "Della, how un-self-possessed! you astonish me." "You shouldn't have made that allusion to her brother," said Mrs. Delancey, sympathizingly. "Dry your eyes immediately, Della; I am ready to go," said her father, sternly. Della choked back her tears, and rising, approached her father, and gracefully put her lips to his forehead, and gave the usual morning kiss. "No more scenes to-day, Della." "No, papa." The door closed, and he was gone. CHAPTER XI. "Then I'll look up; My fault is past. But oh, what form of prayer Can serve my turn? Try what repentance can: what can it not? Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?" Hamlet. When Guly returned to his place that afternoon, Arthur was at his side; and when both raised their eyes to Wilkins' face, as they passed him, he read there an expression of calm tranquillity, such a trustful, happy look of hopefulness, that he could not restrain the cheering smile of encouragement, which came up to his lips in answer. A great change had taken place in Arthur's face--or rather in its expression. There was no longer the glance of proud defiance in the eye--the flash of wounded pride upon the cheek, or curl of scorn upon the lip. All was subdued and quiet, and seemed to whisper of a peaceful, contrite heart. Still he studiously avoided the eye of Charley Quirk, and also seemed to wish to appear oblivious of the presence of the flint-eyed being sitting stiffly at the high desk. He could not trust himself to meet the gaze of either, lest the storm of pride and revenge, so lately banished from his breast, should return again in full force,--sweeping away, with its ocean strength, all the great resolves of future good, which he had piled up as a barrier against the door of evil in his heart. Though his sleep in a degree refreshed him, his head still ached; and throughout his whole frame he experienced that feverish debility and painful soreness ever attendant upon a night of dissipation and exposure.