OVERPOWERED.

"Hudson," said Church, when they were together in the dark hall, "you must not oppose me. I am sorry for the girl; this is a sad life for her, and I wish to make it brighter. The money I advance she can repay by degrees with the help of her art, and if not, you have served me in the past."

A faint groan broke from Hudson, but his tormentor did not seem to hear it. "Cannot—oh cannot you go away and leave us in peace," pleaded the unhappy man. "My poverty was sweet, for I was just beginning to feel safe."

"Why, this is rank ingratitude! I come to you for help in a delicate matter, which you refuse, when I have but to lift my hand to ensure obedience, or——"

"Hush!" said Hudson sharply; the door is thin, she may hear."

"That which I never mean to tell her, or any other person; but you must let me be a little generous. There is no time to lose with the girl. I have given you some pain, let me atone by being of some use to her."

"And what return must we give?" asked Hudson.

"Nothing, I can get along without you. In fact, I cannot see of what use you could be in my affairs; so do not hesitate on that account. Come, man, act frankly, and accept the trifle I am ready to advance, in order that the girl in yonder may one day take the place her father's child should occupy."

"I cannot accept; but God help me, no power of refusal is left to me."

"Spoken like a man!" said Church, grasping the cold hand of his victim. "Now there must be no appeal to the girl, no explanation; she is to have her gleam of good fortune without alloy."

"I will say nothing to disturb her, but there is another who may."

"You mean young Sterling. By what right can he interfere?"

"If the young man loves her as I think he does, his heart will claim the right."

Church became thoughtful a moment, and seemed to be pondering over what Hudson had said. At last he spoke.

"If you took her out of town, could she go on with her work, think you?"

"What, without him?"

"Yes."

"She would not go."

"Why?"

"Because she loves her art, and she loves the man."

"Loves the man, hey! By Jove! turn where you will, and this eternal state of things is forever putting stumbling-blocks in one's way. The girl has brains enough to keep clear of love, I should think. You may be mistaken, Hudson."

"Try her, and see if she will give up her art, or give him up for any money you can offer; his will has greater power to lead her than my command or your wealth."

"Let him lead!" answered Hudson; "or think he does, which is the same thing. There is always a way of guiding such men, either through the heart or brain, and she is sure to find the way. Come, now let us go in and tell the girl that you have relented."

Church flung open the door as he spoke, and addressed Constance in a voice that contrasted painfully with the dejected tone of her father.

"My friend has decided that your life is to be made a little brighter, while you are by all means to go on with the art you love so well; he will give you opportunities of acquiring such accomplishments as will be essential to the new life your success will open to you. She must learn dancing, it is understood," he said, addressing Hudson, "and music; you say she has a good voice."

"Yes," broke in the girl, eagerly. "The old man up stairs has been teaching me to sing; he says that I might join in choruses even now."

"And you play?"

"Yes, on the violin."

"The violin! That is a strange instrument for a lady."

"But it was all I had; the old man would make me try it."

"We must have a piano. Can your old man teach it?"

"Oh, yes! beautifully!"

"How is she educated otherwise?" asked Church, turning to Hudson.

"Better than most girls. I taught her myself," answered Hudson, a little proudly.

"That is excellent. She must know very little, indeed, if we cannot match her with the dolls that graduate from half our fashionable seminaries. A few ologies in school, and a raft of novels read on the sly, that is all it amounts to."

"Oh! I like the novels!" said Constance.

"And so do I," answered Church, with a cynical laugh; "they contain about all the knowledge our young ladies acquire now-a-days. Only don't spend too much of your time over them, you will want it for better things."

"Never fear! I can read them, or let them alone. Give me something else to think of, and I don't care. But all this will cost money; lots of it."

"Money, of course. Who ever expected to accomplish anything without that. Here, old friend, is the sinews of war."

Church took a package of crisp, new bills from his pocket, without a flaw or spot on their greenness, and handed them to Hudson, who recoiled as if he were called upon to touch a serpent.

"Fresh from the Treasury, you see," observed Church, with a significant smile.

"Yes, I see," answered Hudson, shuddering.

"What a suspicious fool you are, Hudson. Great generals never go into the heat of battle themselves; but stand aloof and guide other men to destruction for their own benefit. You and I know better than to go into the works. Take the money. It is good as gold. I saw it cut with my own eyes."

Still Hudson held back.

"Now, father, don't make such an awful goose of yourself!" exclaimed Constance, looking greedily at the money. "If you won't take it, I will. There!"

The girl held out her hand, blushing and half frightened at her own audacity, but as Church reached it forth, tempting her with his crafty smiles, Hudson snatched the money from his hand.

"No," he said fiercely, "if it must be taken, I will save her from the peril and the gratitude."

"Gratitude!" laughed Church; "how much of the old preacher life must cling around you, Hudson, when you talk of that; but I am glad to see you a little more sensible; no matter who takes the money so long as our pretty daughter here gets the benefit."

Church put on his duster as he spoke, and held the traveling cap in his hand. Hudson watched each movement with vigilant suspicion. The presence of that man seemed to oppress him like a nightmare.

After swinging his cap awhile in a hesitating way, Church shook hands with Constance, and turned to Hudson:

"Step with me into the hall again, a moment."

Hudson went into the hall, closing the door after him. The moment they were in the dark, Church said with decision:

"I have been thinking this matter over since that young fellow went out. She must keep her influence over him, and absorb all he knows, but he must not win her. Do you understand?"

"I understand, but have neither the wish nor the power to control the matter."

Church broke out into something approaching an oath, and stamped his foot on the floor.

"Let us have an end to this cant. Carry it to your midnight missions, it is thrown away upon me. There is no limit to the good this girl may work out for you and herself if you keep her free."

"I want no good for her or myself, such as you hint at," said Hudson, with a passionate outbreak. "All that I do ask is that you go away and leave us. Nothing but evil can come out of this. While God permits me to be useful to his creatures, it is all that I ask for myself; as for the girl—God help us! she shall not be tempted as I was, not while I am here to protect her."

"Anger me—brave me as you are doing, and there will speedily come a time when you will not be here, to protect her, my friend!" It was dark in the hall, but the shivering of Hudson's garments as he fell back against the door frame convinced the cruel man that his threat had fallen with all the power he expected.

"Good night," he said. "If I think of anything else, you shall hear."

"Good-night," answered Hudson, faintly. He listened till the footsteps of his unwelcome visitor were lost in the street; then turned back to the room where his daughter sat, flushed, excited, and eager to learn what all this meant.

"Father, father, who is this man?" she cried.

"An old acquaintance of mine, Constance."

"But how came he here—and what does all this mean?"

"He came here because I was once his friend."

"But what are his wishes, father?"

"You heard them, child; but go to bed now; I am tired, and want to think."

"And I—oh! I am delighted. Good-night, father."

She kissed him on the forehead, patted his shoulder lightly with both hands, and went away, singing like a bird, though it was now beyond midnight.

She had been in her room a few minutes, when Hudson opened the door, just enough to make his voice heard.

"Constance," he said, "do not forget to pray, before you go to bed."

"All right—I wont."