I will have a word with him this evening." "I thank you for that, at least," said Hedwig, as he moved to the door.
"Do not mention it," said he, and put his hand on the lock.
A sudden impulse seized Hedwig.

She ran swiftly to him, and clasped her hands upon his arm.
"Father ?" she cried, pleadingly.
"What ?" "Father, do you love me ?" He hesitated one moment.
"No," he said, sternly; "you disobey me"; and he went out in rough haste.

The door closed behind him, and she was left standing alone.
What could she do, poor child?
For months he had tormented her and persecuted her, and now she had asked him plainly if she still held a place in his heart, and he had coldly denied it.
A gentle, tender maiden, love-sick and mind-sick, yearning so piteously for a little mercy, or sympathy, or kindness, and treated like a mutinous soldier, because she loved so honestly and purely,--is it any wonder that her hand went to her bosom and clasped the cold, hard keys that promised her life and freedom?
I think not.

I have no patience with young women who allow themselves to be carried away by an innate bad taste and love for effect, quarrelling with the peaceful destiny that a kind Providence has vouchsafed them, and with an existence which they are too dull to make interesting to themselves or to anyone else; finally making a desperate and foolish dash at notoriety by a runaway marriage with the first scamp they can find, and repenting in poverty and social ostracism the romance they conceived in wealth and luxury.

They deserve their fate.