round. Christmas came to us without special meaning but 1900 went
out with _The Eagle's Heart_ on the market, and _Her Mountain Lover_
going to press. Aside from my sense of bereavement, and a certain
anxiety concerning my lonely old father, I was at peace and Zulime
seemed happy and confident.

There was no escaping my filial responsibility, however, for in the
midst of this serene season, a sudden call for help came from West
Salem. "Your father is ill and needs you," wrote the doctor and I went
at once to his aid.

It was a cheerless home-coming,--one that I could hardly endure the
thought of, and yet I was glad that I had not followed my first impulse
to delay it, for as I entered the door of the desolate lonely house I
found the old soldier stretched out on a couch, piteously depressed in
mind and flushed with fever. I had not arrived a minute too soon.

What a change had come over the Homestead! It was but a shell, a mansion
from which the spirit for whom it had been built was fled. Its empty,
dusty rooms, so cold and silent and dead--were dreadful to me, but I did
my best to fill them with cheer for my father's sake.

As the day wore on I said to him, "It seems like Sunday to me. I have a
feeling that mother and Zulime are away at church and that they may, at
any moment, come in together."

"I wish Zuleema would come," my father said, and as if in answer to his
wish, she surprised us by a telegram. "I am coming home," she wired,
"meet me at the station to-morrow morning," and this message made my
father so happy that it troubled me, for it revealed to me how deeply he
had missed her, and made plain to me also how difficult it would be for
me to take her away from him thereafter.

Her coming put such life in the house that I decided to invite a number
of my father's friends and neighbors to spend the evening with us, and
the thought of this party quite restored him to his natural optimism.
His confidence in his new daughter's ability had become fixed. He
accepted her judgments almost instantly. He bragged of her skill as a
cook, as an artist and as a musician, quite shamelessly; but as this
only amused her I saw no reason for interfering--I even permitted him to
boast of my singing. He believed me to be one of the most remarkable
ballad singers in the world, and to hear me sing "The Ninety and Nine"
with all the dramatic modulations of a professional evangelist afforded
him the highest satisfaction.

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