Such a course of conduct could not be pursued without its becoming apparent to all in the house.  Mrs. Martin had, therefore, added to the cup of sorrow, the mortification and pain of having the servants, and her child daily conscious of his degradation.  Poor little Emma would shrink away instinctively from her father when he would return home in the evening and endeavour to lavish upon her his caresses.  Sometimes Mr. Martin would get irritated at this.

“What are you sidling off in that way for, Emma?” he said, half-angrily, one evening, when he was more than usually under the influence of liquor, as Emma shrunk away from him on his coming in.

The little girl paused and looked frightened—­glancing first at her mother, and then again, timidly, at her father.

“Come along here, I say,” repeated the father, seating himself, and holding out his hands.

“Go, dear,” Mrs. Martin said.

“I reckon she can come without you telling her to, madam!” her husband responded, angrily.  “Come along, I tell you!” he added in a loud, excited tone, his face growing red with passion.

“There now!  Why didn’t you come when I first spoke. to you, ha?” he said, drawing the child towards him with a quick jerk, so soon as she came within reach of his extended hand.  “Say.  Why didn’t you come Tell me!  Aint I your father?”

“Yes, sir,” was the timid reply.

“And havn’t I taught you that you must obey me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then why didn’t you come, just now, when I called you?”

To this interrogation the little girl made no reply, but looked exceedingly frightened.

“Did you hear what I said?” pursued the father, in a louder voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then answer me, this instant!  Why didn’t you come when I called you?”

“Because, I—­I—­I was afraid,” was the timid, hesitating reply.

Something seemed to whisper to the father’s mind a consciousness, that his appearance and conduct while under the influence of liquor, might be such as not only to frighten, but estrange his child’s affection from him; and he seemed touched by the thought, for his manner changed, though he was still to a degree irrational.

“Go away, then, Emma!  Take her away, mother,” he said, in a tone which indicated that his feelings were touched.  “She don’t love her father any more, and don’t care anything more about him,” pushing at the same time the child away from him.

Poor little Emma burst into tears, and shrinking to the side of her mother, buried her face in the folds of her dress, sobbing as if her heart were breaking.

Mrs. Martin took her little girl by the hand and led her from the room, up to the chamber, and kissing her, told her to remain there until the servant brought her some supper, when she could go to bed.

“I don’t want any supper, ma!” she said, still sobbing.