A few quick flushes went over his pale face, and then its expression became very sad.

“Anna,” he said, after a brief silence, during which even my unpracticed eyes could see that an intense struggle was going on in his mind, “Anna, you will have to give up your visit to Saratoga this year.”

“Why, father!” It seemed as if my blood were instantly on fire.  My face was, of course, all in a glow.  I was confounded, and, let me confess it, indignant; it seemed so like a tyrannical outrage.

“It is simply as I say, my daughter.”  He spoke without visible excitement.  “I cannot afford the expense this season, and you will, therefore, all have to remain in the city.”

“That’s impossible!” said I.  “I couldn’t live here through the summer.”

“I manage to live!” There was a tone in my father’s voice, as he uttered these simple words, partly to himself, that rebuked me.  Yes, he did manage to live, but how?  Witness his pale face, wasted form, subdued aspect, brooding silence, and habitual abstraction of mind!

“I manage to live!” I hear the rebuking words even now—­the tones in which they were uttered are in my ears.  Dear father!  Kind, tender, indulgent, long-suffering, self-denying!  Ah, how little were you understood by your thoughtless, selfish children!

“Let my sisters and mother go,” said I, a new regard for my father springing up in my heart; “I will remain at home with you.”

“Thank you, dear child!” he answered, his voice suddenly veiled with feeling.  “But I cannot afford to let any one go this season.”

“The girls will be terribly disappointed.  They have set their hearts on going,” said I.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “But necessity knows no law.  They will have to make themselves as contented at home as possible.”

And he left me, and went away to his all-exacting “business.”

When I stated what he had said, my sisters were in a transport of mingled anger and disappointment, and gave utterance to many unkind remarks against our good, indulgent father.  As for my oldest sister, she declared that she would go in spite of him, and proposed our visiting the store of a well-known merchant, where we often made purchases, and buying all we wanted, leaving directions to have the bill sent in.  But I was now on my father’s side, and resolutely opposed all suggestions of disobedience.  His manner and words had touched me, causing some scales to drop from my vision, so that I could see in a new light, and perceive things in a new aspect.

We waited past the usual time for my father’s coming on that day, and then dined without him.  A good deal to our surprise he came home about four o’clock, entering with an unusual quiet manner, and going up to his own room without speaking to any one of the family.

“Was that your father?” We were sitting together, still discussing the question of Saratoga and Newport.  It was my mother who asked the question.  We had heard the street door open and close, and had also heard footsteps along the passage and up the stairs.