you, he drank so much wine to forget his sorrow. Oh, mamma, you
don't know how poor papa cried as he told me all this, and besought
me not to become like you, but to be good, that every one might love
and respect me!"

Whilst Camilla spoke, her mother had sunk slowly, as if crushed, to
the floor; and, with her face buried in the child's bed, sobbed
aloud.

"Don't cry, mamma," said Camilla, pleadingly; "believe me, I will
not do as papa says, and I will not be so stupid as to live in a
small town, where it is so still and lonesome."

As her mother still wept, Camilla continued, as if to quiet her:

"I shall be like you, mamma; indeed, I will. Oh, you should but see
how I watch you, and notice how you smile at all the gentlemen, what
soft eyes you make, and then again, how cold and proud you are, and
then look at them so tenderly! Oh, I have noticed all, and I shall
do just the same, and I will run away with a gardener, but I will
not let papa catch me--no, not I."

"Hush, child, hush!" cried the mother, rising, pale and trembling,
from her knees; "you must become a good and virtuous girl, and never
run away with a man. Forget what your bad father has told you; you
know he hates me, and has told you all these falsehoods to make you
do the same."

"Mamma, can you swear that it is not true?"