enty minutes he sat there, his ears straining to catch,
through the whistling wind, the sounds of that wild, unearthly
tune,--a tune different from any he had ever heard. Then at length it
stopped, and he sank back into his chair.

He turned expectantly toward the door. Footsteps, bounding with life,
with strength, were bearing down upon him. Suddenly a girl's face,--a
rosy, lovely face,--with rapturous eyes, was turned up to his. At the
sight of her stern father, the girl stopped, bringing her feet
together at the heels, and bowed. Then they two,--Thomas Singleton the
second and Virginia, his daughter,--looked at each other squarely.

"Ah, come in!" said the man. "I want to talk with you. I believe
you're called Virginia."

"Yes, sir; Jinnie, for short, sir," answered the girl, with a slight
inclination of her head.

Awkwardly, and with almost an embarrassed manner, she walked in front
of the grate to the chair pointed out to her. The man glanced sharply
at the strongly-knit young figure, vibrant with that vital thing
called "life." He sighed and dropped back limply. There followed a
lengthy silence, until at last Thomas Singleton shifted his feet and
spoke slowly, with a grim setting of his teeth.

"I have much to say to you. Sit back farther in your chair and don't
stare at me so."

His tones were fretful, like those of a man sick of living, yet trying
to live. He dropped his chin into the palm of his hand and lapsed into
a meditative gloom.

Virginia leaned back, but only in this did she obey, for her eyes were
still centered on the man in silent attention. She had little awe of
him within her buoyant young soul, but much curiosity lay under the
level, penetrating glance she bent upon her father. Here was a man
who, according to all the human laws of which Virginia had ever heard,
belonged to her, and to her alone. There were no other children and no
mother. Yet so little did she know of him that she wouldn't have
recognized him had she met him in the road. Singleton's uneasy glance,
seeking the yellow, licking flames in the grate, crossed hers.

"I told you not to stare at me so, child!" he repeated.

This time the violet eyes wavered just for an instant, then fastened
their gaze once more upon the speaker.

"I don't remember how you look," she stammered, "and I'd like to know.
I can't tell if I don't look, can I?"

Her grave words, and possibly the steady, piercing gaze, brought a
twitch to the fathe