its only interest, and she was ready to sink to her last rest rather than witness his future career.  This was the first time she had wept since the days of early childhood; but she calmed the fearful struggle in her heart, and, toward dawn, fell asleep, with a repulsive sneer on her lips.  The ensuing day she was forced to listen to the complacent comments of her parents, who were well pleased with the alliance.  Antoinette was to return home immediately, the marriage would take place in June, and they were all to spend the summer at the North; after which it was suggested that the young couple should reside with Mr. Graham.  Cornelia was standing apart when her mother made this proposition, and, turning sharply toward the members of her family, the daughter exclaimed: 

“Never!  You all know that this match is utterly odious to me.  Let Eugene have a house of his own; I have no mind to have Antoinette longer in my home.  Nay, father; it will not be for a great while.  When I am gone they can come; I rather think I shall not long be in their way.  While I do live, let me be quiet, will you?”

Her burning yet sunken eyes ran over the group.

Eugene sprang up and left the room; Antoinette put her embroidered handkerchief to dry eyes; Mrs. Graham looked distressed; and her husband wiped his spectacles.  But the mist was in his eyes, and presently large drops fell over his cheeks as he looked at the face and form of his only child.

Cornelia saw his emotion; the great floodgate of her heart seemed suddenly lifted.  She passed her white fingers over his gray hair, and murmured brokenly: 

“My father—­my father!  I have been a care and a sorrow to you all my life; I am very wayward and exacting, but bear with your poor child; my days are numbered.  Father, when my proud head lies low in the silent grave, then give others my place.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her hollow cheek, saying tenderly: 

“My darling, you break my heart.  Have you ever been denied a wish?  What is there that I can do to make you happy?”

“Give Eugene a house of his own, and let me be at peace in my home.  Will you do this for me?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, my father.”

Disengaging his clasping arm, she left them.

A few days after the party at her house, Mrs. Asbury returned home from a visit to the asylum (of which she had recently been elected a manager).  In passing the parlor door she heard suppressed voices, looked in, and, perceiving Mr. Vincent seated near Georgia, retired, without speaking, to her own room.  Securing the door, she sank on her knees, and besought an all-wise God to direct and aid her in her course of duty.  The time had arrived when she must hazard everything to save her child from an ill-fated marriage; and though the mother’s heart bled she was firm in her resolve.  When Mr. Vincent took leave, and Georgia had returned to her room, Mrs. Asbury sought her.  She found her moody and disposed to evade her questions.  Passing her arm round her, she said very gently: