iscovery of her relatives in New York.
He listened in painful surprise, and, ere she had concluded, sprang up. "I
understand! they will want to take you; will urge you to share their home
of wealth. But, Electra, you won't leave me; surely you won't leave me?"

He put his hands on her shoulders, and she knew from his quick, irregular
breathing that the thought of separation greatly distressed him.

"My aunt has not explicitly invited me to reside with her, though I
inferred from her manner that she confidently expected me to do so. Irene
also spoke of it as a settled matter."

"You will not allow me to persuade you? Oh, child! tell me at once you will
never leave me."

"Mr. Clifton, we must part some day; I cannot always live here, you know.
Before very long I must go out and earn my bread."

"Never! while I live. When I offered you a home, I expected it to be a
permanent one. I intended to adopt you. Here, if you choose, you may work
and earn a reputation; but away from me, among strangers, never. Electra,
you forget, you gave yourself to me once."

She looked into his eyes, and, with a woman's quick perception, read all
the truth.

In an instant her countenance changed painfully; she stooped, touched his
hand with her lips, and exclaimed--

"Thank you, a thousand times, my friend, my father! for your interest in,
and your unvarying, unparalleled kindness to me. All the gratitude and
affection which a child could give to a parent I shall always cherish
toward you. Since it annoys you, we will say no more about the future; let
the years take care of themselves as they come."

"Will you promise me positively that you will not go to your aunt?"

"Yes; I have never seriously entertained the thought."

She escaped from his hands, and lighting the gas, applied herself to her
books for the next hour.

If Irene found the restraint of boarding-school irksome, the separation
from Russell was well-nigh intolerable to Electra. At first she had seemed
plunged in lethargy; but after a time this mood gave place to restless,
unceasing activity. Like one trying to flee from something painful, she
rushed daily to her work, and regretted when the hours of darkness
consigned her to reflection. Mrs. Clifton was quite aged, and though
uniformly gentle and affectionate toward the orphan, there was no common
ground of congeniality on which they could meet. To a proud, exacting
nature like Electra's, Mr. Clifton's constant manifes