flower-beds, giving a
separate soft good-night to each bloom.

"And what happened to Algy and Barbara?" he says presently.

"Happened? Nothing!" I answer, absently.

"Very brutal of Algy and Barbara, then!" he says, more in the way of a
reflection than a remark.

"Very brutal of _father_, you should say!" reply I, roused by the
thought of my parent to a fresh attack of active and lively resentment.

"I have no doubt I should if I knew him."

"He would not let them come!" say I, explanatorily, "for what reason?
for _none_--he never has any reasons, or if he has, he does not give
them. I sometimes think" (laughing maliciously) "that _you_ will not be
unlike him, when you grow old and gouty."

"Thank you."

"_You_ have no father, have you?" continue I, presently; "no, I remember
your telling me so at the Linkesches Bad. Well" (laughing again, with a
certain grim humor), "I would not fret about it _too_ much, if I were
you--it is a relationship that has its disadvantages."

He laughs a little dryly.

"On whatever other heads I may quarrel with Providence, at least no one
can accuse me of ever murmuring at its decrees in this respect."

We have risen. The darkness creeps on apace, warmly, without damp or
chillness; but still, on it comes! I have to face the prospect of my
great and gloomy house all through the lagging hours of the long black
night!

"They will come to-morrow, _certainly_, I suppose?" (interrogatively).

"Not _certainly_, at all!" reply I, with an energetic despondence in my
voice; "quite the contrary! most likely not! most likely not the day
after either, nor the day after that--"

"And if they do not" (with an accent of sincere compassion), "what will
you do?"

"What I have done to-day, I suppose," I answer dejectedly; "cry till my
cheeks are _sore_! You may not believe me" (passing my bare fingers
lightly over them as I speak), "but they feel quite _raw_. I wonder"
(with a little dismal laugh) "why tears were made _salt_!--they would
not blister one half so much if they were fresh water."

He has drawn a pace or two nearer to me. In this light one has to look
closely at any object that one wishes specially and narrowly to observe;
and I myself have pointed out the peculiarities of my countenance to
him, so I cannot complain if he scrutinizes me with a lengthy attention.

"It is going to be such a _dark_ night!" I say, with a slight shiver;
"and if the wind gets up, I know that I shall