Now, in the midst of a perturbation not greater, but less easily disguised, he held his peace as a matter of course. Some early developed quality of aloofness in him held inquiry at bay. Then suddenly the clouds lifted. He was radiant and full of covert smiling. Mr. Tallmadge resented this phase more than the former gloom. "He's paying heavy interest, the young fool! and can't realize that that way damnation lies." But all the old man's clumsy efforts to bring about an explanation were unavailing. Ethan declared with some surprise that he was not in need of funds. Mr. Tallmadge began to scrutinize the letters that came. Three mornings in succession a business-like envelope addressed in the same clerkly hand! Alone, before the fire in the dining-room, waiting for breakfast that third morning, the old man solemnly deliberated, glanced at the clock, and grumbled to himself that Ethan would certainly be ten minutes late as usual these days. "Perhaps he doesn't sleep." He examined the suspicious envelope. The flap was not securely gummed down. Mr. Tallmadge glanced again at the clock. He had not the least doubt as to his right--"duty" he would have said--to open the letter of this unconfiding minor, who was his ward and grandson--an unpractical youth, moreover, of absolutely no business capacity whatever. Still, although Mr. Tallmadge would never have admitted it, he was a little in awe of this grandson, with so little "Tallmadge" in him. It was essential to open the letter--no doubt about that; but it would be well to have the business over before Ethan appeared. Mr. Tallmadge's desire not to be interrupted in the act might have enlightened him as to its defensibility; but he was no casuist. He took up the letter, adjusted his spectacles, and walked to the window. Inserting a long finger-nail, he easily pried up the flap. "MY DARLING ETHAN,--Your last poem is the most beautiful thing I ever read in my life. It is far more wonderful than anything Shelley ever did. I shall be in the Beech Walk at five. "Your wife, ALMIRA." Aaron Tallmadge clutched the red damask curtains, with a stifled groan. The breakfast-bell clanged loudly. Its echoes had not time to die before Ethan appeared, with shining morning face. "Good-morning," he said, lightly, looking down at his plate. "No letters?" "Yes, sir." Mr. Tallmadge turned his ashen countenance round. "There _is_ a letter." Ethan stared at him and ran forward. "What's the matter? Are you ill?" Mr. Tallmadge warded him off with a shaking hand. "You scoundrel!" Ethan drew himself up arrow-straight, and his warm brown eyes grew cold. "I knew there was some devilry afoot. I never dreamed it was as bad as this." The old man flung the open letter down on the nearest chair. Ethan colored, catching sight of the hand. "So you've been reading my letters?" "Yes; I only wish to the Lord I had exercised that right before. I might have saved you from this ruin!"