“It is undeniably your property, but since you will so soon possess the original, I would suggest the propriety of leaving the picture where it is, until your mother decides where she will reside.”

“I understood that you had sold this house, and feared that in the removal it might be injured.”

“It will be carefully preserved with my own pictures, and if your mother wishes it forwarded I will comply with her instructions.  All the business details of your voyage I have arranged with Mrs. Palma and Mr. Chesley; and you have only to pack your trunks and bid adieu to such friends as you may deem worthy of a farewell visit.  Have you a copy of Jean Ingelow?”

“No, sir.”

“Then oblige me by accepting mine.  I have no time for poetry.”

He took the book to his desk, wrote upon the fly leaf:  “Lily, March the 10th;” then marked “Divided,” and returning to the table held the volume toward her.

“Thank you, but indeed, sir, I do not wish to accept it.  I much prefer that you should retain it.”

He inclined his head, and replaced the book on the marble slab.  She rose, and he saw the colour slowly ebbing from her lips.

“Mr. Palma, I hope you will not deny me one great favour.  I cannot leave my dog; I must have my Hero.”

“Indeed!  I thought you had quite forgotten his existence.  You have ceased to manifest any interest in him.”

“Yes, to manifest, but not to feel.  You took him from me, and I was unwilling to annoy you with useless petitions and complaints.  You assured me he was well cared for, and that I need not expect to have him while I remained here; now I am going away for ever, I want him.  You gave him to me once; he is mine; and you have no right to withhold him any longer.”

“Circumstances have materially altered.  When you were a little girl I sent you a dog to romp with.  Now you are a young lady preparing for European conquests, and having had his day, Hero must retire to the rustic shade of your childhood.”

“Years have not changed my feeling for all that I love.”

“Are you sure, Lily, that you have not changed since you came to live in New York?”

“Not in my attachment to all that brightened my childhood, and Hero is closely linked with the dear happy time I spent at the parsonage.  Mr. Palma, I want him.”

Her guardian smiled, and played with his watch chain.

“Officers of the ocean steamers dislike to furnish passage for dogs; and they are generally forwarded by sailing vessels.  My ward, I regret to refuse you, particularly when we are about to say good-bye, possibly for ever.  Wait six months, and if at the expiration of that time, you still desire to have him cross the ocean, I pledge myself to comply with your wishes.  You know I never break a promise.”

“Where is Hero?  May I not at least see him before I go?”

“Just now he is at a farm on Staten Island, and I am sorry I cannot gratify you in such a trivial matter.  Trust me to take care of him.”