"I suppose so--yes!" I said, turning away my head--she was looking full at me, and looking very anxiously--she had always been greatly privileged. I feared I might have been questioned, had she caught the expression of my eye. "And did he say who? Was it M----? Was it your cousin?" said Alice. "No, it was not my cousin; but why do you speak of that? Alice, let me go to my father," said I. "He does not want you now, darling," said Alice, detaining me. "Dear Miss Hester, don't you think it wrong of me--you're my own child. I took you out of your mother's arms. Speak to me just one word. Is there any one, darling, any one?--Miss Hester, you'll not be angry with me?" "Then do not ask me such questions, Alice," I said, in great shame and confusion, with a burning flush upon my cheek, "does it become us to speak of things like this, when my father so ill--why do you say he does not want me now! he may want me this very moment, let me go." "Dear, he's sleeping," said Alice, "he has been very ill, and now he's at rest and easy, and lying down to refresh himself--you can't go now, Miss Hester, for it would only disturb him--poor gentleman--won't you stay, dear, and say a word to me?" "I have nothing to say to you, Alice," said I, half crying with vexation and shame and embarrassment, "why do you question me so? I have done nothing wrong--you ought rather to tell me how my father is, if you will not let me go to see." "The pain is here," said Alice, putting her hand to her side, "here at his heart. I know what trouble at the heart is, Miss Hester, and your papa has known it many a day, but it isn't grief or sorrow now, but sickness, and if the one has brought the other, I cannot tell. It comes on in fits and spasms, and is very bad for a time, and then it goes off again, and he is as well to look at as ever he was. But every time it comes he's weaker, and it's wearing out his strength day by day. Yes, dear, it's cruel to say it, but it's true." "And are you with him when he is ill, Alice?" said I anxiously. "He rings his bell when he feels it coming," said Alice, "though I know he has many a hard hour all by himself; and anxiety on his mind is very bad for him, dear," she continued, looking at me wistfully, "and he is troubled in his spirit about leaving you. If you _can_ give in to him, Miss Hester, dear, if it's not against your heart--if you're fancy-free, and think no more of one than of another--oh! darling, yield to him anything you can. He's a suffering man, and is your father, and pride is the sin of the house; every one has it, less or more; and there are only two of you in the world, and you are his only child!"