fierce lines of deep contempt and loathing, that, as she looked at
him, it frightened her. She, also, rose and lightly clasped her arms
about his neck in an appeal.

"There, all the week," he went on with less virulence, "you have, as
her companion, the happy life I wish for you, Ah, your old father does
not grudge you that, my liebschen! And, after all, you do not falter
in your love. My poverty does not make you forget me--eh?"

"Forget you, father? These hours are pleasantest of all! These hours
with you here in these rooms which you say are 'poor' are far, far
pleasanter to me than any hours at Mrs. Vanderlyn's."

"Ah, so," said he. "Yes, you come back to me and we are happy--very
happy. It is my good luck--much better than I really deserve. Come,
now, come. A little cake, a little wine, in honor of your visit.
M'riar, M'riar--where have you gone, M'riar?"

From the other room the slavey came with reddened eyes.

"'Ere, sir; 'ere Miss." She was snuffling.

"Why, M'riar," said Kreutzer, in dismay! "What is it? Why weep you?"

"Ho, it allus mykes me snivel w'en I sees you two together, that w'y.
Hi cawn't _stand_ it. 'Ow you love! It mykes me _'ungry_. Yuss, fair
'ungry. Nobody ain't hever loved _me_ none--it mykes me 'ungry."

Quick with remorse and sympathy Anna pounced upon her and enfolded her
in a great hug, realizing, for the first time, that, on entering, she