The introduction of Charlotte into young Fox-Cordery's life afforded him new sources of delight. He pinched her on the sly as he pinched the servants, he pulled her ears, he slapped her face, and the wonder of it was that Charlotte never complained. Her patience and submission did not soften him; he tyrannized over her the more. Hearing his father say that Charlotte ought to have a doll, he said that he would buy her one, and the father was pleased at this prompting of affection. Obtaining a sum of money from his mother, young Fox-Cordery put half of it into his pocket, and expended the other half in the purchase of a doll with a woebegone visage, dressed in deep mourning. Presenting it to his sister he explained that the doll had lost everybody belonging to her, and was the most wretched and miserable doll in existence. "She will die soon," he said, "and then I will give you a coffin." But the young villain's purpose was foiled by Charlotte's sweet disposition. The poor doll, being alone in the world, needed sympathy and consolation, and Charlotte wept over her, and kissed and fondled her, and did everything in her power to make her forget her sorrows. Eventually Charlotte's father suggested that the doll had been in mourning long enough and he had her dressed like a bride, and restored to joy and society; but this so enraged young Fox-Cordery that he got up in the night and tore the bridal dress to shreds, and chopped the doll into little pieces. The fond companionship between Mr. Fox-Cordery and his daughter did not last very long. Before Charlotte was seven years old her father died. On his deathbed the thought occurred to him that his daughter was unprovided for. His will, made shortly after his marriage, when he was still in ignorance of his wife's true character, left everything unreservedly to her; and now, when he was passing into the valley of the Shadow of Death, he trembled for his darling Charlotte's future. The illness by which he was stricken down had been sudden and unexpected, and he had not troubled to alter his will, being confident that many years of life were before him. And now there was little time left. But he lived still; he could repair the error; he yet could make provision for his little girl. Lying helpless, almost speechless, on his bed, he motioned to his wife, and made her understand that he wished to see his lawyer. She understood more; she divined his purpose. She had read the will, by which she would become the sole inheritor of his fortune--she and her son, for all she had would be his. Should she allow her beloved Fox to be robbed, and should she assist in despoiling him? Her mind was quickly made up. "I will send for the lawyer," she said to her husband. "At once, at once!" "Yes, at once." A day passed. "Has the lawyer come?" whispered the dying man to his wife. "He was in the country when I wrote yesterday," she replied. "He returns to-morrow morning, and will be here then."