Left to herself, Ruth hesitated before going to her father with her
ill-boding tidings. None knew better than she of the great, silent love
that bound her parents. As a quiet, observant child, she had often
questioned wherein could be any sympathy between her father, almost old,
studious, and reserved, and her beautiful, worldly young mother. But as
she matured, she became conscious that because of this apparent disparity
it would have been still stranger had Mrs. Levice not loved him with a
feeling verging nearer humble adoration than any lower passion. It seemed
almost a mockery for her to have to tell him he had been negligent, --not
only a mockery, but a cruelty. However, it had to be done, and she was the
only one to do it. Having come to this conclusion, she ran quickly
downstairs, and softly, without knocking, opened the library door.

She entered so quietly that Mr. Levice, reading by the window, did not
glance from his book. She stood a moment regarding the small
thoughtful-faced, white-haired man.

If one were to judge but by results, Jules Levice would be accounted a
fortunate man. Nearing the allotted threescore and ten, blessed with a
loving, beloved wife and this one idolized ewe-lamb, surrounded by luxury,
in good health, honored, and honorable, --trouble and travail seemed to
have passed him by. But this scene of human happiness was the result of
intelligent and unremitting effort. A high state of earthly beatitude has
seldom been attained without great labor of mind or body by ourselves or
those akin to us. Jules Levice had been thrown on the world when a boy of
twelve. He resolved to become happy. Many of us do likewise; but we
overlook the fact that we are provided with feet, not wings, and cannot fly
to the goal. His dream of happiness was ambitious; it soared beyond
contentment. Not being a lily of the field, he knew that he must toil; any
honest work was acceptable to him. He was possessed of a fine mind; he