Beautiful?  Yes, with her hair
    So wild and her cheeks so flushed! 
  Awful?  Yes, for there
    In her beauty she stands hushed
  By the pomp of her own despair.

  —­Meredith.

Judge Merlin walked about, reasoning with himself all day; but he could not walk off his depression of spirits, or reason away his misgivings.

He returned home in time to dress for dinner.  He crept up to his chamber with a wearied and stealthy air, for he was still dispirited and desirous of avoiding a meeting with his daughter.

He made his toilet and then sat down, resolved not to leave his chamber until the dinner-bell rang, so that he should run no risk of seeing her until he met her at dinner, where of course no allusion would be made to the event of the morning.

He took up the evening paper, that lay upon the dressing-table by some chance, and tried to read.  But the words conveyed no meaning to his mind.

“She is all I have in this world!” he sighed as he laid the paper down.

“Papa!”

He looked up.

There she stood within his chamber door!  It was an unprecedented intrusion.  There she stood in her rich evening dress of purple moire-antique, with the bandeau of diamonds encircling her night-black hair.  Two crimson spots like the flush of hectic fever burned in her cheeks, and her eyes were unnaturally bright and wild, almost like those of insanity.

“Papa, may I come to you?  Oh, papa, I have been waiting to speak to you all day; and it seems to me as if you had purposely kept out of my way.  Are you displeased, papa?  May I come to you now?”

He opened his arms, and she came and threw herself upon his bosom, sobbing as if her heart would break.

“What is the matter, my darling?”

“Are you displeased, papa?”

“No, no, my darling!  Why should I be?  How could I be so unreasonable?  But—­do you love him, Claudia?”

“He will be an earl, papa.”

“Are you happy, Claudia?”

“I shall be a countess, papa!”

“But—­are you happy, my dear, I ask you.”

“Happy?  Who is?  Who ever was?”

“Your mother and myself were happy, very happy during the ten blessed years of our union.  But then we loved each other, Claudia.  Do you love this man whom you are about to make your husband?”

“Papa, I have consented to be his wife.  Should not that satisfy you?”

“Certainly, certainly, my child!  Besides, it is not for my rough, masculine hand to probe your heart.  Your mother might do it if she were living, but not myself.”

“Papa, bless me! it was for that I came to you.  Oh, give me your blessing before I go downstairs to—­him, whom I must henceforth meet as my promised husband.”

“May the Lord bless and save you, my poor, motherless girl!” he said, laying his hand on her bowed head.

And she arose, and without another word went below stairs.