Into the best chamber of their father’s house Fanny led the weeping, repentant girl, and gently removing her bonnet and shawl, bade her lie down on the nicely-cushioned lounge, while she went for her father.  As she was leaving the room Julia arose and laid her small, bony hand on Fanny’s shoulder.  It had rested there before, for in the graveyard, with their buried mother between them, Julia’s arms had encircled her sister’s neck; but the first excitement was over, and now involuntarily Fanny shrank from that touch, for in spite of all her courage, she could not help associating Julia with the grass-grown grave, and the large white monument.

“What is it, Julia?” she said calmly.  “Do you wish to see father?”

“Oh, yes, yes,” answered Julia, “but not him, the other one—­at least not tonight.  You understand.”

“I do,” said Fanny, and she glided down the stairs toward her father’s room.  He was awake, for ere her hand touched the doorknob, his sonorous “Who’s thar?” fell on her ear.  This somewhat disconcerted her, for she had intended stopping near his door, to devise the best means by which to break the intelligence.  But “Who’s thar?” was again repeated, and entering the room she said softly, “It’s I, father.”

“Why, sure enough,” said he, and then as the light from her lamp fell on her features, he exclaimed, “why, how white you be!  What’s the matter?  Who’s upstairs?  Is George sick?”

“No, George is not sick,” said Fanny, “but—­,” and then as well as she could she told him all she knew.

Uncle Joshua’s nervous system was unstrung, and his physical health impaired by long nights of watching with his wife, and now when this fresh shock came upon him, he fell back half-fainting upon his pillow.  Then rousing himself, he said, “Alive and come back!  I don’t desarve this.  But where is she?  I will go to her.”

Fanny directed him where to find her, and then returned to Julia, whither her father soon followed.  Uncle Joshua was not prepared for the change in his daughter.  He did not even think of her as he saw her last, wasted by sickness, but in imagination he beheld her as she was in her days of health and dazzling beauty, when with diabolical cunning she had brought Dr. Lacey to her feet.  Now, however, her face was thin, white and haggard, for such a life as she had lived had never conduced to the beauty and health of any one.  Her eyes, sunken in their sockets, and swollen with recent weeping, looked frightfully large and wild, and to complete the metamorphosis, her beautiful, glossy hair was now cut short on her neck, and pushed far back from a brow, across which lay more than one premature wrinkle.

The sight of her for a time unsettled the old man’s reason.  Taking her in his arms he alternately cried and laughed over her, saying, “I knew you’d come.  I expected it.  I’ve waited for you.”

Julia’s altered appearance troubled him, and drawing her head down upon his bosom, and laying his hand on her thin, white face, he said, “Poor child, what has changed you so, and whar have you been; and who did I buy that big stun for if ’twasn’t for you?”