CONSTANCE MAKES A SECOND VISIT TO HER DRESS-MAKER.

Church took his hat after this, and went away, leaving the father alone with his child, who saw a look of sharp terror come over him.

"Father, what is this?" she said, coming up to him, changed completely in voice and manner. "Rhoda told me that this man was threatening you; and that you were pleading with him so earnestly that she could not help hearing you as she swept the stairs. You looked frightened when I came in. You look frightened now, father. Tell me what the secret is?"

"But you will marry him, and that ends all."

"Father, I will not marry him. He wants it, I know; and I have let him say many things that ought to have been nonsense, or never spoken. Tell me the truth, and then I shall better know how to help you. I am weary of all this, sick of myself."

"That is a terrible sickness; one never recovers from it in this world," answered the father, drearily.

"Father, trust me, for I love you." She put her arms around his neck, and laid her cheek lovingly by his, so lovingly that it brought tears into his eyes. "Tell me what this man's power is?"

Constance knelt down before him, and leaning one arm on his knee, entreated him with her eyes, as she had done many times when a child.

Hudson shaded his eyes from her gaze; but she took down his hand, holding it between both hers lovingly—for at the moment she was good and affectionately resolved on helping her father.

"Father, tell me!"

"Tell you what, child?"

"Why is it that you are so troubled when Mr. Church comes here?"

"Because he tortures me; because he is an unsafe man."

"Then why let him visit us?"

"God forgive me, child! I cannot help myself."

"Father, look at me!"

"Well?"

"Have you done anything wrong, that——"

"Stop, Constance; I will not be questioned so."

Hudson arose abruptly, and seizing his hat, went out of the house, leaving Constance alone, and greatly troubled. She stayed awhile, thinking over what had passed, and feeling the loneliness of her life very keenly; for, since Sterling's departure, she had bitterly repented the selfishness which had kept her from his side, and, at first sight, almost hated Church for being the cause of all this self-reproach. Sympathy for her father's evident unhappiness also enlisted her better feelings in his behalf, and she was ready to make any sacrifice that promised to bring him back to even comparative tranquillity. Some day she meant to persuade him to go with her out to the far west, where new and happy lives might be opened to them. For the time this, indeed, was her generous purpose. If she had seemed to encourage Church lately, it was from a suspicion that in some way her father was in his power. Indeed, that bad man had more than once cruelly hinted as much.

After thinking over all the perplexities of her position with more honesty of purpose than usually followed her reveries, she was seized with a sudden desire to go forth into the open air. Not long before she had left some garment to be altered at the dress-maker's, and turned her steps that way, indifferent where she went. When she came in sight of the house, Constance was surprised to see her father entering it without knocking, as if he were used to the place. Surprised and offended, hardly knowing why, she followed him into the hall, and up to the top of the house, hearing his footsteps above her, though he was out of sight. She found the door of the dress-maker's room ajar, and heard her father's voice within, gentle and sweet, as she had seldom listened to it at home.

Constance drew softly toward the door, looked through and saw her dress-maker with both arms folded on her own father's knee, and lifting her sweet face to his with a look of yearning fondness that made her seem beautiful as a saint.

Constance Hudson stood a moment in dumb astonishment, then she turned and left the house as noiselessly as she had entered it.