"You are afraid, my child? What is it fears you?"

She slipped out of his arms. There was no going back, she now must
tell him all. She knew that he would not be harshly angry, though she
greatly feared he would be sorely grieved.

She held him, with a gentle hand, back in his chair as he would have
arisen, and sank down at his feet, her arm upon his knee, her face
upturned. "Come, father," she said simply. "I want to sit here at
your feet. I want to sit here at your feet just as I did when I was,
oh, a very little girl!"

The old man was sorely puzzled, but he sank back in his chair and let
her take his hands--both of them. One of them she placed upon her
beautiful, dark hair; the other she held close clasped against her
bosom in her own. "Father, I have something to confess."

He was amazed, but less distressed than he had been. His Anna, his
own, liebling Anna, could not have anything to confess which was so
very terrible. He looked down at her and smiled in reassurance. Her
wonderful, dark eyes were upturned, as he gazed, and, for an instant,
looked straight at his; but then the delicately veined lids drooped.

"You have something to confess? What is it, Anna?"

"I shall not go back again to Mrs. Vanderlyn's," she slowly answered.
"I have come home, my father; have come home to you--to stay."

He was worried. Could she be satisfied, after what she had been having
there at Mrs. Vanderlyn's, with what his small purse had to offer her