en aback by his daughter's speech.

"Edna Sefton! Why, that is Eleanor Sefton's daughter! What a strange
coincidence!" And then he muttered to himself, "Eleanor Sartoris'
daughter under our roof! I wonder what Dora will say?" And then he
turned to the fair, striking-looking girl whom Tom was assisting with
all the alacrity that a young man generally shows to a pretty girl:
"Miss Sefton, you will be heartily welcome for your mother's sake; she
and I were great friends in the 'auld lang syne.' Will you come with me?
I have a fly waiting for Bessie; my son will look after the luggage;"
and Edna obeyed him with the docility of a child.

But she glanced at him curiously once or twice as she walked beside him.
"What a gentlemanly, handsome man he was!" she thought. Yes, he looked
like a doctor; he had the easy, kindly manner which generally belongs to
the profession. She had never thought much about her own father, but
to-night, as they drove through the lighted streets, her thoughts, oddly
enough, recurred to him. Dr. Lambert was sitting opposite the two girls,
but his eyes were fixed oftenest on his daughter.

"Your mother was very anxious and nervous," he said, "and so was Hatty,
when Tom brought us word that the train was snowed up in Sheen Valley I
had to scold Hatty, and tell her she was a goose; but mother was nearly
as bad; she can't do without her crutch, eh, Bessie?" with a gleam of
tenderness in his eyes, as they rested on his girl.

Edna felt a little lump in her throat, though she hardly knew why;
perhaps she was tired and over-strained; she had never missed her father
before, but she fought against the feeling of depression.

"I am so sorry your son has to walk," she said politely; but Dr. Lambert
only smiled.

"A walk will not hurt him, and our roads are very steep."

As he spoke, the driver got down, and Bessie begged leave to follow his
example.

"We live on the top of the hill," she said apologetically; "and I cannot
bear being dragged up by a tired horse, as father knows by this time;"
and she joined her brother, who came up at that moment.

Tom had kept the fly well in sight.

"That's an awfully jolly-looking girl, Betty," he observed, with the
free and easy criticism of his age. "I don't know when I have seen a
prettier girl; uncommon style, too--fair hair and dark eyes; she is a
regular beauty."

"That is what boys always think about," returned Bessie, with
good-humored contempt. "Girls are