small, for I fear it is all gone. But then, indeed, everything comes
on me at once. My dear, dear father's death; then the approaching
departure and expected long absence of Traverse! All that was
grievous enough to bear; and now to be torn away from the home of my
childhood, and from the friend that has always been a mother to me,
and by a man, from whom every true, good instinct of my nature
teaches me to shrink. I, who have always had full liberty in the
house of my dear father, to be forced away against my will by this
man, as if I were his slave!" exclaimed Clara, bursting into fresh
tears of indignation and grief.

"Clara, my dear, dear girl, this impatience and rebellion is so
unlike your gentle nature that I can scarcely recognize you for the
mild and dignified daughter of my old friend. Clara, if the saints
in heaven could grieve at anything, I should think your dear father
would be grieved to see you thus!" said the old man in gentle rebuke
that immediately took effect upon the meek and conscientious maiden.

"Oh! I feel--I feel that I am doing very wrong, but I cannot help
it. I scarcely know myself in this agony of mingled grief,
indignation and terror--yes, terror--for every instinct of my nature
teaches me to distrust and fear that man, in whom my father must
have been greatly deceived before he could have entrusted him with
the guardianship of his only child."

"I think that quite likely," said the old man; "yet, my dear, even
in respect to your dear father's memory, you must try to bear this
trial patiently."

"Oh, yes, I know I must. Dear father, if you can look down and see