knocked.

"Come in!" rather impatiently.

With a smile Lianor opened the door, and entered, followed by
Pantaleone.

In the room, handsomely fitted up as a study, sat a fine-looking,
middle-aged man, busily wilting; his dark face wore an expression of
severity as he glanced toward the intruders.

It quickly faded, however, on seeing the pretty figure standing there;
instead, a gentle smile wreathed his lips.

"Well, Lianor, dearest, what is it?"

"Papa," and the girl stole noiselessly behind his chair, winding her
arms around his neck. "I am so miserable, I have nothing to amuse me,
and unless you do something to make me happier, I shall go melancholy
mad!"

"My dearest child, what is the matter? Are you ill?" anxiously turning
to peer into the lovely face.

"No, papa; but I am so tired of this life."

"That is not like my little girl. And I have tried hard to make you
happy. Nothing in reason have I refused you--jewels, such as a queen
might envy; priceless stuffs to deck your pretty form, and other
things which no girl of your age ever possessed," reproachfully.