“Gossip! I have never thought of it as gossip,” returned she, struck for the first time by the change in his appearance. “It all happened so long ago it seems more like some quaint and ancient tale than a story of one of our neighbors. Besides, the fact that a wilful girl ran away from the house of her father, with the man of her choice, is not such a dreadful one is it, though she never returned to its walls with her husband, and her father was so overwhelmed by the shock, he was never seen to smile again.” “No,” said he, giving her a hurried glance of relief, “I only wondered at the tenacity of old stories to engage the popular ear. I had supposed even the remembrance of Jacqueline Japha would have been lost in the long silence that has followed that one disobedient act.” “And so it might, were it not for that closely shut house with the sinister bar across its chief entrance, inviting curiosity while it effectually precludes all investigation. With that token ever before our eyes of a dead man’s implacable animosity, who can wonder that we sometimes ponder over the fate of her who was its object.” “And no intimations of that fate have been ever received in Grotewell. For all that is known to the contrary, Jacqueline Japha may have preceded her father to the tomb.” Paula bowed her head, amazed at the gloomy tone in which this emphatic assertion was made by one whose supposed ignorance she had been endeavoring to enlighten. “You knew her history before, then,” observed she, “I beg your pardon.” “And it is granted,” said he with a sudden throwing off of the shadow that had enveloped him. “You must not mind my sudden lapses into gloom. I was never a cheerful man, that is, not since I—since my early youth I should say. And the shadows which are short at your time of life grow long and chilly at mine. One thing can illumine them though, and that is a child’s happy smile. You are a child to me; do not deny me a smile, then, before I go.” “Not one nor a dozen,” cried she, giving him her hands in good-bye for they had arrived at the depot by this time and the sound of the approaching train was heard in the distance. “God bless you!” said he, clasping those hands with a father’s heartfelt tenderness. “God bless my little Paula and make her pillow soft till we meet again!” Then as the train came sweeping up the track, put on his brightest look and added, “If the fairy-godmother chances to visit you during my departure, don’t hesitate to obey her commands, if you want to hear the famous organ peal.” “No, no,” she cried. And with a final look and smile he stepped upon the train and in another moment was whirled away from that place of many memories and a solitary hope. XI. MISS STUYVESANT. “She smiled; but he could see arise Her soul from far adown her eyes.” —MRS. BROWNING. “She is a beauty; it is only right I should forewarn you of that.” “Dark or light?”