“Two for Norah,” she announced, beginning with her sister.  “Three for Miss Garth.  None for mamma.  One for me.  And the other six all for papa.  You lazy old darling, you hate answering letters, don’t you?” pursued Magdalen, dropping the postman’s character and assuming the daughter’s.  “How you will grumble and fidget in the study! and how you will wish there were no such things as letters in the world! and how red your nice old bald head will get at the top with the worry of writing the answers; and how many of the answers you will leave until tomorrow after all! The Bristol Theater’s open, papa,” she whispered, slyly and suddenly, in her father’s ear; “I saw it in the newspaper when I went to the library to get the key.  Let’s go to-morrow night!”

While his daughter was chattering, Mr. Vanstone was mechanically sorting his letters.  He turned over the first four in succession and looked carelessly at the addresses.  When he came to the fifth his attention, which had hitherto wandered toward Magdalen, suddenly became fixed on the post-mark of the letter.

Stooping over him, with her head on his shoulder, Magdalen could see the post-mark as plainly as her father saw it—­new Orleans.

“An American letter, papa!” she said.  “Who do you know at New Orleans?”

Mrs. Vanstone started, and looked eagerly at her husband the moment Magdalen spoke those words.

Mr. Vanstone said nothing.  He quietly removed his daughter’s arm from his neck, as if he wished to be free from all interruption.  She returned, accordingly, to her place at the breakfast-table.  Her father, with the letter in his hand, waited a little before he opened it; her mother looking at him, the while, with an eager, expectant attention which attracted Miss Garth’s notice, and Norah’s, as well as Magdalen’s.

After a minute or more of hesitation Mr. Vanstone opened the letter.

His face changed color the instant he read the first lines; his cheeks fading to a dull, yellow-brown hue, which would have been ashy paleness in a less florid man; and his expression becoming saddened and overclouded in a moment.  Norah and Magdalen, watching anxiously, saw nothing but the change that passed over their father.  Miss Garth alone observed the effect which that change produced on the attentive mistress of the house.

It was not the effect which she, or any one, could have anticipated.  Mrs. Vanstone looked excited rather than alarmed.  A faint flush rose on her cheeks—­her eyes brightened—­she stirred the tea round and round in her cup in a restless, impatient manner which was not natural to her.

Magdalen, in her capacity of spoiled child, was, as usual, the first to break the silence.

“What is the matter, papa?” she asked.

“Nothing,” said Mr. Vanstone, sharply, without looking up at her.

“I’m sure there must be something,” persisted Magdalen.  “I’m sure there is bad news, papa, in that American letter.”