htened.

So, also, was M'riar, who stood gaping at the spectacle of her Miss
Anna's grief with wide, fear-stricken eyes.

"Cawn't Hi do nothink for 'er, sir?" she said, approaching timidly.

For the first time in his life he spoke almost harshly to the child,
in his excitement. "No," he said emphatically. "You will only stand
and say 'My heye! Hi sye! Hi sye! My heye!' You can do nothing. It
would be well for you to step into the kitchen, possibly. I smell me
that there may be something burning, there. And do not come again
until I call to you. If nothing burns there, now, then something might
burn, later. It would be well for you to stay and watch." He had no
wish to hurt the poor child's feelings--but his Anna! Surely none but
he must witness this completely inexplicable, this mad outburst of
wild woe.

"What is this, my Anna?" he said softly to the weeping girl who clung
there in his arms when M'riar had left the room. "You are tear-ing,
Anna--you are tear-ing, child!" He was sure his English had escaped
him, but he could not stop to make correction.

She looked up at him, at last. "'Tear-ing? Tear-ing?' Oh, crying! Yes,
I'm crying--because I am so happy, and because--"

He was more puzzled by this extraordinary statement than he had been
by her tears. "Because you are so _happy_! Hein! A woman--she is
strange. So strange. She cries because she is so happy, then she cries
because she is so sorry. When she cries no one can tell which makes
her do it. You are sure it is the happiness, this time, that makes you
cry?"

"Quite sure," said Anna, trying hard to stifle the great sobs. "Yes; I
am certain. It is because I am so happy, and--because--I am a little
bit--af-fraid!"

"You are afraid, my child? What is it fears you?"

She slipped out of his arms. There was no going back, she now must
tell him all. She knew that he would not be harshly angry, though she
greatly feared he would be sorely grieved.

She held him, with a gentle hand, back in his chair as he would have
arisen, and sank down at his feet, her arm upon his knee, her face
upturned. "Come, father," she said simply. "I want to sit here at
your feet. I want to sit here at your feet just as I did when I was,
oh, a very little girl!"

The old man was sorely puzzled, but he sank back in his chair and let
her take his hands--both of them. One of them she placed upon her
beautiful, dark hair; the other she held close clasped against her
bosom in her ow