her I or she is to command my daughter?"

"Command!" said Marston, evading the direct appeal; "and pray what is all
this commanding about?--What do you want the girl to do?"

"I wish her to remain here with me for a little time, and mademoiselle,
knowing this, desires her instantly to go to the music-room, and leave
me. That is all," said Mrs. Marston.

"And pray, is there nothing to make her going to the music-room advisable
or necessary? Has she no music to learn, or studies to pursue? Pshaw!
Mrs. Marston, what needs all this noise about nothing? Go, miss," he
added, sharply and peremptorily, addressing Rhoda, "go this moment to the
music-room."

The girl glided from the room, and mademoiselle, as she followed, shot a
glance at Mrs. Marston which wounded and humbled her in the dust.

"Oh! Richard, Richard, if you knew all, you would not have subjected me
to this indignity," she said; and throwing her arms about his neck, she
wept, for the first time for many a long year, upon his breast.

Marston was embarrassed and agitated. He disengaged her arms from his
neck, and placed her gently in a chair. She sobbed on for some time in
silence--a silence which Marston himself did not essay to break. He
walked to the door, apparently with the intention of leaving her. He
hesitated however, and returned; took a hurried turn through the room;
hesitated again; sat down; then returned to the door, not to depart, but
to close it carefully, and walked gloomily to the window, whence he
looked forth, buried in agitating and absorbing thoughts.

"Richard, to you this seems a trifling thing; but, indeed it is not so,"
said Mrs. Marston, sadly.

"You are very right, Gertrude," he said, quickly, and almost with a
start; "it is very far from a trifling thing; it is very important."

"You don't blame me, Richard?" said she.

"I blame nobody," said he.

"Indeed, I never meant to offend you, Richard," she urged.

"Of course not; no, no; I never said so," he interrupted, sarcastically;
"what could you gain by that?"

"Oh! Richard, better feelings have governed me," she said, in a
melancholy and reproachful tone.

"Well, well, I suppose so," he said; and after an interval, he added
abstractedly, "This cannot, however, go on; no, no--it cannot. Sooner or
later it must have come; better at once--better now."

"What do you mean, Richard?" she said, greatly alarmed, she knew not why.
"What are you resolving upon? Dear Richard, in me