was saying--Oh, yes! I was about to remark that we are all prone to
magnify our troubles. Now here you are, after all these years, still
brooding over your unfortunate father, when he is probably long since
returned to France, quite well and happy."

"If I could only be sure. It has been so long since we heard, nearly
thirteen years! The last letter was the one you got when Mac was born."

"Yes, and I answered him in detail, assuring him of your complete
recovery, and expressing my hope that he would never again burden you
until with God's help he had mastered the sin that had been his undoing."

Mrs. Clarke shook her head impatiently.

"You and Macpherson never understood about father. He came to this
country without a friend or a relation except mother and me. Then she
died, and he worked day and night to keep me in a good boarding-school,
and to give me every advantage that a girl could have. Then his health
broke, and he couldn't sleep, and he began taking drugs. Oh, I don't see
how anybody could blame him, after all he had been through!"

"For whatever sacrifices he made, he was amply rewarded," the bishop
said. "Few fathers have the satisfaction of seeing their daughters more
successfully established in life."

"Yes, but what has it all come to for him? Made to feel his disgrace,
aware of Macpherson's constant disapproval--I don't wonder he chose to
give me up entirely."

"It was much the best course for all concerned," said the bishop, with