t length.

"No, Adaly, your father does not write cheerfully,--certainly not; he
speaks of the probable loss of his fortune."

Now Adele, with her parsonage training, had really very little idea of
fortune.

"That means I won't be rich, New Papa, I suppose. But I don't believe
it; he will have money enough, I'm sure. It don't disturb me, New
Papa,--not one whit."

The Doctor was so poor a hand at duplicity that he hardly knew what to
say, but meantime was keeping his eye with the same dazed look upon the
charming Adele.

"You look so oddly, New Papa,--indeed you do! You have some sermon in
your head, now haven't you, that I have broken in upon?--some sermon
about--about--let us see."

And she moved toward his desk, where the letter of Maverick still lay
unfolded.

The Doctor, lost in thought, did not observe her movement until she had
the letter fairly in her hand; then he seized it with a suddenness of
gesture that instantly caught the attention of Adele.

A swift, deep color ran over her face.

"It is for my eye only, Adaly," said the Doctor, excitedly, folding it
and placing it in his pocket.

Adele, with her curiosity strangely piqued, said,--

"I remember now, papa told me as much."

"What did he tell you, my child?"

"Not to be too curious about some business affairs of which he had
written you."

"Ah!" said the Doctor, with a sigh of relief.

"But why shouldn't I be? Tell me, New Papa," (toying now with the
silvered hair upon the forehead of the old gentleman,) "is he really in
trouble?"

"No new trouble, my child,--no new trouble."

For a moment Adele's thought flashed upon that mystery of the mother she
had never seen, and an uncontrollable sadness came over her.

"Yet if there be bad news, why shouldn't I know it?" said she. "I must
know it some day."

"'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,'" said the Doctor,
gravely. "And if bad news should ever come to you, my dear
Adaly,--though I have none to tell you now,--may you have strength to
bear it like a Christian!"

"I will! I can!" said she, with a great glow upon her face.

Never more than in that moment had the heart of the old gentleman warmed
toward Adele. Not by any possibility could he make himself the willing
instrument of punishing the sin of the father through this trustful and
confiding girl. Nay, he felt, as he looked upon her, that he could
gladly make of himself a shelter for her against such contempt or
neglect