d up the treasures of the casket of her heart
without a murmur to the burglar; the city had capitulated without
fighting, without even protest. She was sure he would not find it
easy to approve of her selection.

So she was not ready, yet, to tell him; she was not ready to destroy
the happiness of this, their day together, as she feared that such a
revelation must, inevitably.

"Hard times, father!" she said, temporizing. "But perhaps, sometime,
they shall be changed. Perhaps _I_ shall be rich, some day."

"Ah, Anna, no; such thoughts are what they call, up at the park,
the--the--what is it? Ah, I have it--dream of the pipe. Rich we shall
never be, my Anna."

"But it's _so_ hard as it is. Only once-a-while can we be here
together."

"Hard?" said he, and smoothed her hair. "You must not say that. It is
so sweet when once-a-while it comes! It makes me so happy--"

"Dear!"

Depression seized him, now. Fiercely the thought rose in his mind
that while he waited for these meetings with the keenest thoughts of
joy, she, on the other hand, must look forward to them with emotions
much less purely happy. That she was glad to be with him he did not
doubt; he could not doubt; but what a contrast must his poor rooms
offer to the luxurious surroundings of her other days! It would be
only human if she yielded to an impulse to be critical, only human if,
against her will, she felt contempt for his dire poverty. The black
thought filled his soul with bitterness.

"Look," he said, and rose with a sudden gesture almost of despair.
"What must you think of me, my liebschen? Poor little rooms! They are
no place for you. Ah, no; for you the grand and beautiful home of Mrs.
Vanderlyn!"

His scorn of self was written, now, so plainly on his face, in such
fierce lines of deep contempt and loathing, that, as she looked at
him, it frightened her. She, also, rose and lightly clasped her arms
about his neck in an appeal.

"There, all the week," he went on with less virulence, "you have, as
her companion, the happy life I wish for you, Ah, your old father does
not grudge you that, my liebschen! And, after all, you do not falter
in your love. My poverty does not make you forget me--eh?"

"Forget you, father? These hours are pleasantest of all! These hours
with you here in these rooms which you say are 'poor' are far, far
pleasanter to me than any hours at Mrs. Vanderlyn's."

"Ah, so," said he. "Yes, you come back to me and we are happy