said—what have I done? Oh, my darling!" cried Miss Euphrasia, coming to her senses with agony, and folding the girl to her heart, in emotion too varied and intense to be otherwise expressed.

And Claudia slipped down, and burying her face in the lap of the weak but loving-hearted woman, cried passionately.

CHAPTER II.

DARK DAYS.

"THERE is no sense nor reason in it," said Mr. Lisle, with feverish emphasis. "Why should Euphrasia stay? If her brother wishes her to return, she had better go at once, my dear; at

window of their little salon, looking out on the gardens in front of the hotel, and the sea beyond: :all wearing the same dreary, half-obliterated aspect, as seen through the ceaselessly pouring rain. Mr. Lisle carefully turned and arranged the large sheet of the "Times" paper, which he was reading, and leaned back in his chair more comfortably to peruse it. Some time passed without another word being exchanged between them; the father continuing to read, the daughter to look out of window and think.

They were not happy thoughts that occupied her

VOL. II.

F

mind, to judge from the tremulous, pained expression about the mouth, the overwrought look in her usually clear hazel eyes. But she said nothing; and presently the crackling newspaper was laid down again, and Mr. Lisle looked over his spectacles at his daughter as she still sat in the same attitudeher head turned from him at a precisely similar angle.

"Well? You know something must be settled. What does she say herself?" he asked, and impatiently turned round in his chair towards the fire, and began knocking about the burning logs, with a good deal of muttered grumbling.

"She has said nothing," Claudia replied, when there was a pause; "and I don't know-I can't tell

if she would like to leave-to leave us."

"She is of no use to us, you know ;-none in the Don't let her suppose we want her to

world. stay." "Papa!" his daughter cried, in vehement protest; then added, more gently, "We couldn't let her think otherwise. It would hurt her so much."

"Well, my dear, it's out of the question for her to stay on here," he burst out querulously. "She's only in the way-an encumbrance. Her brother wants her-we don't. He says it was an absurd piece of come at all, and by Jove! I agree

folly for her to

with him. I didn't ask her to come.

I didn't want

her. Hughes flings it at me as if it was my fault. The devil take it! I've enough to do among you all."

He struck sundry vigorous blows at the logs again, thereby causing a brilliant insurrection of sparks, and then flinging the poker down, returned to the "Times." His was not a countenance that ever indicated much sentiment; just at this minute the square forehead with the stiff grey hair bristling above it, and the dried-up face with its deep-set, glittering eyes, looked specially hard and impracticable.

Claudia was watching him. Something like indignation had at first sparkled in her glance, but it died out after a little while. He looked so ill, and worn, and miserable; his voice,-that fretful, irritable voice, was also so feeble and hollow. Many and many a time during the six weeks that had elapsed since their arrival, Lodie's first impulse of vexation—even of anger-at some such ebullition had been chastened by the same thought, and she had schooled herself to remember that it was so hard for him-it was such a sore trial to the old man, the fortunate millionaire, accustomed to wealth, luxury, power, position, respect to be suddenly cast out from all these familiar conditions, and to find

himself in his old age ruined;-the whole labour of his life undone, with no apparent prospect of retrieval. It was very, very hard for him; and his daughter resolutely cherished the belief that it was not his nature, but the too-trying action of circumstances thereon which caused him often to appear soso—what she would not give a name to, even in idea.

So, as she looked at him now, the bitterness in her heart gradually yielded to a tender pain and compassion. She rose from her seat by the window, and approached this poor broken-down, un-heroic father. She had a woman's tact, and knew what she might do. Already she had taken her place, as it were, and the matter-of-fact East Indian-in whom years of money-making in a tropical climate would seem to have dried up all tender emotion-if he failed to show much depth of affection for his only daughter, at any rate appeared to take more pleasure in her than in anything else that was left to him. Grim as he looked, she crept to his side, gently moved away his newspaper, and leaned her head against his shoulder. He only said, "What's this-what's this?" as if half teased, half pleased, and then began rather awkwardly to stroke her hair.

Poor

"Papa, we mustn't be unkind to Phrasie. Phrasie, she has been so good to me all these years; and-and is it true that almost all her money