d
to go.

She had a little arbor in the garden, the vines about which had been
carefully trained by her own hands; it had always been a favorite resort,
and of late had become a thousand times more dear, because it was there
that she and Hadley had spent most of their happy hours. So soon as she had
sufficient strength to bear the fatigue, she requested to be taken there,
and her wish was granted. What a throng of memories came crowding through
her mind as she once more sat in that verdant bower! Every flower had a
tongue and a reminiscence, and the entire place and scene spoke of the past
in language mute but eloquent. How her heart beat with excitement, as the
many associations of other days rushed over her spirit with the lightening
wings of thought, and awakened emotions of joy and grief. While with the
past she was happy; but when the cheerless present occupied her mind,
sadness filled her heart, while shadows gathered upon her brow, and tears
in her eyes.

The father saw all this, for he watched the changes of her countenance with
the deepest solicitude. When he noted the saddened expression that came
over it, his heart was heavy, for he divined the cause. How his feeling of
bitterness toward Hadley increased, as he saw the wreck of happiness he had
made; and how he longed to expose the blackness of his character to his
infatuated daughter! He felt certain that his child would cease to regard
him as she had done, the moment she was put in possession of the facts
which so clearly established his guilt. But it would cost her a severe
struggle, and he feared she was yet too weak to sustain the shock.

At length, however, as he perceived that internal grief was preying upon
her spirits, it occurred to him that the evil resulting from this eating
sorrow, which was brooded over in secret, would be greater in the end than
the quick pang, though it should be sharp and powerful for an hour or a
day. Approaching her affectionately, and with great tenderness of manner,
he said:

"You are sad, Eveline; you are not happy, I know you are not; and yet you
do not confide your sorrow to me. Is this kind, my dear?"

"Oh, father!" and she burst into tears. He drew her head upon his bosom,
and for a short period permitted sorrow to have its way, then inquired:

"May I share my daughter's grief?"

"Father, father, do not wound my heart afresh! I fear me now it will never
heal!"

"Eveline, child, you misunderstand me. God forb