“No, no;” she cried; but quickly contradicted herself with a hurried, “Yes, yes, let me be made acquainted with what there is against him, if only that I may prove to you it is all a mistake.” “There is no mistake,” he muttered, handing her a folded paper. “This statement was written two years ago; I witnessed it myself, though I little knew against whose honor it was directed. Read it, Cicely, and then remember that I have lost bonds out of my box at the bank, that could only have been taken by some one connected with the institution.” She took the paper in her hand, and eagerly read it through. Suddenly she started and looked up. “And you say that this was Bertram, this gentleman who allowed another man to accuse him of a past dishonesty?” “So the person declares who forwarded me this statement; and though he is a poor wretch and evidently not above making mischief, I do not know as we have any special reason to doubt his word.” Cicely’s eyes fell and she stood before her father with an air of indecision. “I do not think it was Bertram,” she faltered, but said no more. “I would to God for your sake, it was not!” he exclaimed. “But this communication together with the loss we have sustained at the bank, has shaken my faith, Cicely. Young men are so easily led astray nowadays; especially when playing for high stakes. A man who could leave his profession for the sake of winning a great heiress—” “Father!” “I know he has made you think it was for love; but when the woman whom a young man fancies, is rich, love and ambition run too closely together to be easily disentangled. And now, my dear, I have said my say and leave you to act according to the dictates of your judgment, sure that it will be in a direction worthy of your name and breeding.” And stooping for a hasty kiss, he gave her a last fond look and quietly left the room. And Cicely? For a moment she stood as if frozen in her place, then a great tremble seized her, and sinking down upon a sofa, she buried her face from sight, in a chaos of feeling that left her scarcely mistress of herself. But suddenly she started up, her face flushed, her eyes gleaming, her whole delicate form quivering with an emotion more akin to hope than despair. “I cannot doubt him,” she whispered; “it were as easy to doubt my own soul. He is worthy if I am worthy, true if I am true; and I will not try to unlove him!” But soon the reaction came again, and she was about to give full sway to her grief and shame, when the parlor door opened—she herself was sitting in the extension room—and she saw Mr. Sylvester and Paula come in. She at once rose to her feet; but she did not advance. A thousand hopes and fears held her enchained where she was; besides there was something in the aspect of her friends, which made her feel as though a welcome even from her, would at that moment be an intrusion. “They have come to see father,” she thought “and—” Ah what, Cicely?