tlemen had left the box, the stranger rose and stepped
into the box behind him, which brought him on a line with us, and close
to me, as I was seated next to the partition. I did not look him in the
face; but I could not help being conscious of his movements, and of the
probing gaze he again fixed on me. I wished I had not asked for the
water. I could have borne the faintness and oppression caused by the
odor of the gas better than that dark, unshrinking glance. I dreaded the
anger of Ernest on his return. I feared he would openly resent an
insolence so publicly and perseveringly displayed. We were side by side,
with only the low partition of the boxes between us, so near that I felt
his burning breath on my cheek,--a breath in which the strong perfume of
orris-root could not overcome the fumes of the narcotic weed. I tried to
move nearer Meg, but her back was partially turned to me, in the act of
conversing with some gentleman who had just entered the box, and she was
planted on her seat firm as a marble statue.

The stranger's hand rested on the partition, and a note fell into my
lap.

"Conceal this from your husband," said a low, quick voice, scarcely
above a whisper, "or his life shall be the forfeit as well as mine."

As he spoke, he lifted his right hand, exhibiting a miniature in its
palm, in golden setting. One moment it flashed on my gaze, then
vanished, but that glance was enough. I recognized the lovely features
of my mother, though blooming with youth, and beaming with hope and joy.

To snatch up the note and hide it in my bosom, was an act as instinctive
as the beating of my heart. It was my father, then, from whose scorching
gaze I had been shrinking with such unutterable dread and loathing,--the
being whom she had once so idolatrously loved, whom in spite of her
wrongs she continued to love,--the being who had destroyed her peace,
broken her heart, and laid her in a premature grave--the being whom her
dying lips commanded me to forgive, whom her prophetic dream warned me
to protect from unknown danger. My father! I had imagined him dead, so
many years had elapsed since my mother's flight. I had thought of him as
a fabulous being. I dreamed not of encountering him, and if I had, I
should have felt secure, for how could he recognize _me_? My father!
cold and sick I turned away, shivering with indescribable apprehension.
He had destroyed my mother,--he had come to destroy me. That secret
note,--that note