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“I thought you’d gone back on me, Esmeraldy,” he cried. “I thought you’d gone back on me.”

Clelie and I turned away and left them as the girl fell upon her knees at his side.

The effect produced upon the father–who had followed Mademoiselle as usual, and whom we found patiently seated upon the bottom step of the flight of stairs, awaiting our arrival–was almost indescribable.

He sank back upon his seat with a gasp, clutching at his hat with both hands. He also disbelieved.

“Wash!” he exclaimed weakly. “Lord, no! Lord, no! Not Wash! Wash, he’s in North Cal-lina. Lord, no!”

“He is up-stairs,” returned Clelie, “and Mademoiselle is with him.”

During the recovery of Monsieur Wash, though but little was said upon the subject, it is my opinion that the minds of each of our number pointed only toward one course in the future.

In Mademoiselle’s demeanor there appeared a certain air of new courage and determination, though she was still pallid and anxious. It was as if she had passed a climax and had gained strength. Monsieur, the father, was alternately nervous and dejected, or in feverishly high spirits. Occasionally he sat for some time without speak ing, merely gazing into the fire with a hand upon each knee; and it was one evening, after a more than usually prolonged silence of this description, that he finally took upon himself the burden which lay upon us unitedly.

“Esmeraldy,” he remarked, tremulously, and with manifest trepidation,–“Esmeraldy, I’ve been thinkin’–it’s time–we broke it to mother.”

The girl lost color, but she lifted her head steadily.

“Yes, father,” she answered, “it’s time.”

“Yes,” he echoed, rubbing his knees slowly, “it’s time; an’, Esmeraldy, it’s a thing to–to sorter set a man back.”

“Yes, father,” she answered again.

“Yes,” as before, though his voice broke somewhat; “an’ I dessay you know how it’ll be, Esmeraldy,–that you’ll have to choose betwixt mother and Wash.”

She sat by her lover, and for answer she dropped her face upon his hand with a sob.

“An’–an’ you’ve chose Wash, Esmeraldy?”

“Yes, father.”

He hesitated a moment, and then took his hat from its place of concealment and rose.

“It’s nat’ral,”‘he said, “an’ it’s right. I wouldn’t want it no other way. An’ you mustn’t mind, Esmeraldy, it’s bein’ kinder rough on me, as can’t go back on mother, havin’ swore to cherish her till death do us part You’ve allus been a good gal to me, an’ we’ve thought a heap on each other, an’ I reckon it can allers be the same way, even though we’re sep’rated, fur it’s nat’ral you should have chose Wash, an’–an’ I wouldn’t have it no other way, Esmeraldy. Now I’ll go an’ have it out with mother.”

We were all sufficiently unprepared for the announcement to be startled by it Mademoiselle Esmeralda, who was weeping bitterly, half sprang to her feet.

“To-night!” she said. “Oh, father!”

“Yes,” he replied; “I’ve been thinking over it, an’ I don’t see no other way, an’ it may as well be to-night as any other time.”

After leaving us he was absent for about an hour. When he returned, there were traces in his appearance of the storm through which he had passed. His hands trembled with agitation; he even looked weakened as he sank into his chair, We regarded him with commiseration.

“It’s over,” he half whispered, “an’ it was even rougher than I thought it would be. She was terrible outed, was mother. I reckon I never see her so outed before. She jest raged and tore. It was most more than I could stand, Esmeraldy,” and he dropped his head upon his hands for support. “Seemed like it was the Markis as laid heaviest upon her,” he proceeded. “She was terrible sot on the Markis, an’ every time she think of him, she’d just rear–. she’d just rear. I never stood up agen mother afore, an’ I hope I shan’t never have it to do again in my time. I’m kinder wore out.”