For some time they gazed steadily each into the other's face.

"Irma, my child," said Kalmar in English, "you know me?"

But the girl stood gazing in perplexity.

"Irma! Child of my soul!" cried the man, in the Russian tongue,
"do you not remember your father?" He stepped from the shadow to
where the light from the open door could fall upon his face and
stood with arms outstretched.

At once the girl's face changed, and with a cry, "It is my fadder!"
she threw herself at him.

Her father caught her and held her fast, saying not a word,
but covering her face with kisses.

"Come in, come in to the warm," cried the kind-hearted Irish woman,
wiping her eyes. "Come in out o' the cold." And with eager
hospitality she hurried the father and children into the house.

As they passed in, Paulina turned away. Before Mrs. Fitzpatrick
shut the door, Irma caught her arm and whispered in her ear.

"Paulina, is it? Let her shtop--" She paused, looking at the Russian.

"Your pardon?" he enquired with a bow.

"It's Paulina," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, her voice carrying the full
measure of her contempt for the unhappy creature who stood half