"With pleasure, dear father," answered Leah, as cheerfully as the
swelling emotion at her heart would allow. Then, in an undertone to
herself, she added, "It may be the last time I shall have the
privilege of playing for him in my life. If I were to go to Europe,
that wretched woman would devise some plan to keep me there, and so
I'll stay with--" the last word she uttered was spoken in a whisper,
and scarce escaped her lips. Hastily obeying her father's summous,
after arranging a becoming toilet, Leah descended to the
drawing-room, where Mr. Mordecai awaited her. "Father," said Leah
abruptly, as she was turning to her music, "to-day, in looking over
a package of papers, I came across the cards of cousin Hannah
Stuyvesant; I had not thought of her for ever so long. Who was it
she married?"

"Oh! A Christian dog! A renegade. Somebody named Bliss, I believe."

"Did they prosper, father?"

"I'll venture to say not, but I do not know positively. I've known
nothing of her since she so far renounced her people as to marry a
Christian. Neither have I desired to know anything of her."

At these words of Mr. Mordecai-significant words-Leah stationed
herself at the instrument, and, with mind absorbed, and thoughts far
away from the music, she performed mechanically piece after piece,
as her father would request. The tea-bell at last summoned the
family to the evening meal, and encircling his daughter with his
arm, Mr. Mordecai led the way to the waiting repast. This was the
last evening meal of the banker's family, unbroken. Yet who could