oom empty. Mr. Royal had gone down stairs.
But it was too early for Mrs. Eveleigh, and Elizabeth might still have
her talk with him without interruption. With a mixture of relief and
dread she went down the broad, low stairs and crossed the hall into the
library.

It had always been her favorite room. She had spent so many happy hours
here with the books, that the room with its handsome old furniture and
sunny windows was full of the memories and day dreams that her reading
had conjured up. But not only this; it was here that she had seen most
of her father; they had spent hours together here, while Mrs. Eveleigh
attended to her household duties, or amused herself with her friends,
or retired for her nap. And whether father and daughter talked, or
sat, he with his paper or his writing, she with her book, each felt a
companionship in the other. Elizabeth often spoke her thoughts freely to
any one who happened to be within hearing when the mood for speech came
over her; but as to her feelings, her father understood those best. This
was partly on account of his quickness of comprehension, which supplied
much that she did not utter, and partly because there came to her times
when her father seemed like a second self, and silence grew unnatural.

But that morning speech, evidently, was not easy to her. For, although
she had gone to him as a matter of course, her perplexity seemed to grow
greater as she sat down by the desk at which he was making up some
accounts. It seemed to her that her life was no longer free and simple;
a dreadful force had come into contact with it and, as she felt, made it
more unworthy. Had a mere jest ever before brought such a train of
miseries? Her fingers laid restless folds in a piece of paper she took
up, and her father after his greeting went on with the accounts. It was
his habit to give people time, and he had found that doing it gave him
the best opportunity to take his own bearings. His judgments were
usually so accurate, and his decisions so wise that a good many people
would have been thankful to find the scales by which he weighed the
anxiety or the satisfaction that came under his observation. On that
morning the rapid pen travelled several times up and down columns of
figures and noted down the results before Elizabeth began:

"Father." It was a small beginning, and followed by silence. But the
tone made Mr. Royal push his work aside, and look full into his
daughter's face. "Father,"