deal
with. Penelope had divined that Mr. Pound was her father's arch-enemy,
and she met his most benign approach with her head tilted defiantly and
her eyes flashing, so that now, in a quandary, he asked: "What shall we
do with the child?"

The question was a sign that he surrendered her. He had shown an honest
desire to take her under his roof, and no one could say that if he had
fired the train which had wrecked her home, he was not willing to make
atonement.

"What shall we do with the child?" my father repeated. He rose to show
that the conference was ended and the question settled. "David has
already answered that," he said, laying a hand upon my shoulder. "My boy
promised Henderson Blight to take care of her until he returned. They
have settled it among themselves, and I shall do nothing to interfere
with them."

He spoke so firmly that no one dared to remonstrate, and so it came that
I kept my promise to the Professor as far as it was in my power. He must
have said himself that Penelope had a home better than any he could have
given her. She had a mother's care--a care so loving that I should have
grown jealous had I not found a certain compensation in the fact that the
watchfulness over me relaxed and I was less hampered in my comings and
goings. Before a month had passed my mother was confessing a dread that
the Professor might return and claim the child; she was pleading with my
father to abandon what she called a useless and an expensive search.
Chance had left the door open, and chance had brought me into the hall,
so I stopped and stood as silently as I could that I might not disturb
their conference. I was frightened by the sternness in my father's
voice. He spoke of his duty. To him duty summed up life. He had his
duty, even in the matter of so worthless a creature as this Henderson
Blight. Declaring this, he stamped the floor in emphasis.

Often in the weeks that followed, when Penelope and I roamed over the
fields, when her merriment rang out the highest, and her laughter was so
free that it seemed she was forgetting the clearing and the days when her
sole companion was the gaunt and bitter-tongued Professor--often then I
would hear again the stamp of my father's foot and his stern avowal, and
to me it was as though he were conspiring against me in seeking to send
away the only comrade I had ever known, and would leave me to pass my
days in the wake of James. I abhorred James now. I