ave been forty; grief and hard life
had made her old before her time. Her face was haggard. Beautiful
as she still was, it was the beauty of a broken heart, of a Mater
Dolorosa, not the roundfaced beauty of the fresh young girl who had
gone forth rejoicing some ten years earlier from the Deanery at
Dunwich to the lecture-rooms at Girton. For a moment the Dean
stared hard at her. Then with a burst of recognition he uttered
aghast the one word "Herminia!"

"Father," Herminia answered, in a tremulous voice, "I have fought a
good fight; I have pressed toward the mark for the prize of a high
calling. And when I heard you preach, I felt just this once, let
come what come might, I must step forth to tell you so."

The Dean gazed at her with melting eyes. Love and pity beamed
strong in them. "Have you come to repent, my child?" he asked,
with solemn insistence.

"Father," Herminia made answer, lingering lovingly on the word, "I
have nothing to repent of. I have striven hard to do well, and
have earned scant praise for it. But I come to ask to-day for one
grasp of your hand, one word of your blessing. Father, father,
kiss me!"

The old man drew himself up to his full height, with his silvery
hair round his face. Tears started to his eyes; his voice
faltered. But he repressed himself sternly. "No, no, my child,"
he answered. "My poor old heart bleeds for you. But not till you
come with full proofs of penitence in your hands can I ever receive
you. I have prayed for you without ceasing. God grant you may
repent. Till then, I command you, keep far away from me, and from
your untainted sisters."

The child felt her mother's hand tremble quivering in her own, as
she led her from the church; but never a word did Herminia say,
lest her heart should break with it. As soon as she was outside,
little Dolly looked up at her. (It had dwindled from Dolores to
Dolly in real life by this time; years bring these mitigations of
our first fierce outbursts.) "Who was that grand old gentleman?"
the child asked, in an awe-struck voice.

And Herminia, clasping her daughter to her breast, answered with a
stifled sob, "That was your grandpa, Dolly; that was my father, my
father."

The child put no more questions just then as is the wont of
children; but she treasured up the incident for long in her heart,
wondering much to herself why, if her grandpa was so grand an old
gentleman, she and her mamma should have to live by