* * * * *

I became a frequent visitor at the Doctor's, and gradually learned more
and more of this remarkable man. His little daughter told me much, that
I could never have guessed. She was a very serious child, perhaps of
eleven years, and not very attractive. In fact, she was ugly, but her
gravity seemed somehow to suit her so well that I could by no means
dislike her. Her father was very fond of her; of an evening the three
of us would sit in the west room; the Doctor would smoke and read; I
would read some special matter--usually on philosophy--selected by my
tutor; Lydia would sit silently by, engaged in sewing or knitting, and
absorbed seemingly in her own imaginings. Lydia at one time said some
words which I could not exactly catch, and which made me doubt the
seeming poverty of her father, but I attributed her speech to the
natural pride of a child who thinks its father great in every way. I was
not greatly interested, moreover, in the domestic affairs of the
household, and never thought of asking for information that seemed
withheld. I learned from the child's talk, at odd times when the Doctor
would be absent from the room, that they were foreigners,--a fact which.
I had already taken for granted,--but I was never made to know the land
of their birth. It was certain that Dr. Khayme could speak German and
French, and I could frequently see him reading in books printed in
characters unknown to me. Several times I have happened to come
unexpectedly into the presence of the father and daughter when they were
conversing in a tongue which I was sure I had never heard. The Doctor
had no companions. He was at home, or at school, or else on the way from
the one to the other. No visitor ever showed himself when I was at the
cottage. Lydia attended the convent school. I understood from remarks
dropped incidentally, as well as from seeing the books she had, that her