templating a
possible refusal; then went on interrogatively:

"You are going to work at something that will take all of your time,
and, perhaps, keep you away from home; your daughters are going to work,
such of them as are able, but, from my observation, there are three of
them who can do nothing in a business line. Two of them, the twins, are
strong and healthy and can look after themselves, but the third, Jean,
what will you do with her?"

"You have touched the point that constitutes my greatest worry and
perplexity," answered Mrs. Dering, quite unconscious of the thoughts in
his mind. "Jean is so delicate and frail that she requires constant
attention; she is a child, and must be amused, and because of her
affliction she can never be unattended. I have always taught her, and
being fond of her books, she is much farther advanced than most children
of her age, and I regret beyond all expression that she will have to
fall behind now, she----"

"No, she won't," cried Mr. Congreve, who had been growing more excited
as the speech progressed, and who now jumped out of his chair with every
indication of breaking into a jig. "I assure you she won't, only let me
have her; she shall have the best governess and attendant that money can
bring. Every luxury and comfort that can be thought of, every wish
gratified as soon as expressed and I--I--"

He was obliged to stop to get his breath, and grow a little more quiet,
for Mrs. Dering was leaning back in her chair, quite white with amaze
and contending emotions; so Mr. Congreve settled abruptly into a chair
and smoothed his voice and manner down several degrees.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he continued. "I know it is sudden and,
indeed, I am quite as astonished as you are; I am, indeed; but the
moment I looked at the child last night, there was something in her face
and manner, that reminded me so strongly of my own little Mabel, that my
heart, old and dried up as it is, went right out to her. You know,
Elizabeth Dering, how I loved my child. She would have been a woman now
had she lived, but the Lord saw fit to take her, and--and--I--where's my
snuff-box?--I suppose, of course, 'twas best; but here's your little
one, yours and Robert's, afflicted like my little Mabel, and I am able
to do everything by her that the sick and afflicted need. She shall
travel, have the best of medical attention, and if the dear good Lord
sees fit, perhaps she may be cured."

His fierce gra