Litchfield enquirer., 1870-02-24


 your love for him? Did you offer him en. dearing words and offices of love7 May not his heart have been 'hungering for to- kens of his daughters affection when you thought him most iudifferent?"
 Kitty looked wonderingly into the lady E eyes. Do you think it could be possi' ble?'
 Thave seen such natures, dear"
 Kitty's thoughts went down into the pase years. -19- E
 Perhaps I have inherited my fathers heart-reserve, and we have been too much alike to understand each other" she said, and little by little poor Kittys perplexed thoughts and position came forth word by word, easing tired heart and bran, and the lady sat and listened.
 Sometimes think I must hear from home, said Kitty; must hear whether my father speaks of me. long to know what new current the household life has taken since came away-how dear Aunt Elea- nor is, and. oh, so many thingsl"
 "Why do you not write to your father and tell him just this?"
 'T cannot. Mrs. Emmery. He has &C., cepted my decision, as wished. He has made no effort to learn where I am. I cannot make first advance. I have cho- sen my way, and wish to abide by it. All I want is communication with my home. Ny father opens no way for it. He is in different. He has little thought for his daughter. My heart is so foolish, so fool ish to reach out to him, Mrs Emmery.:'
 The lady pressed her closer. "My dear child! my little Kitty! Did you hide your. self better than you meant? Listen to me. Your father was at first like one bereft of reason when he comprehended the step you had taken. I know him, Kitty. I knew him years before your birth. Then, outwardly calm and wary, he sought you everywhere; in the city first; he thought that would be your most natural resort; and taking steps'to avoid all publicity, he gave himself up to the search. It is strange you hid yourself so well. You were at length traced here; and not week since that time has passed that intelli gence has not been received of you to your home. Your health, your plans, as near as they have been determined. have been objects of your fathers loving solici- tude. That you have not imagined this, | can well conceive. Your fathers wish that you should work out your own plan, absolutely and alone, has been imperative l But in case health failed, or circumstances became too untoward, there was always re- lief at hand. Your spirit is like his own, your father says-too arbitrary, too self. reliant Experience has taught him many lessons, and he has been willing to let the | same teacher teach his child. But, Kitty, he does not know, he never dreamed of. the tenderness in your heart for him, else all the elements could not have kept him from you. You are alike in heart reserve: but 'you will know each other better now"
 Kitty lay sobbing, without a word of questioning or comment. The strain on heart and nerve had been so long contin- ued, that in the reaction now she was weak as child.
 ''And you?" she said at last, question. ingly, looking into the sweet, serene face. ~ 'T went, when we learned that Mrs. Clentham was going, to the Beach, that I might make her acquaintance there. It was your fathers wish that should do so. He feared your strength might fail beneath your unwonted burdens, and yet himself. Mrs. Clentham comprehends our relation, though she does not know all the circumstances. Am forgiven for as- suming @ name other than my own, and making the acquaintance of your fathers daughter by stratagemf do not know that she will let me say my child. But we will be friends, Kitty, will we not? We will be friends at all events"
 And Mrs. Horace Lloyd, Mrs. Emmery no longer, soothed and cheered the weep. ing girl, and Horace Lloyd came by-and by and took his wife and daughter home, and told Kitty she had been brave little girl to bear with those noisy children and their invalid mother so long, and laughed at himself when he found how different his words were from what, in the first hours of separation from his daughter, he had i supposed they would be when she should return.
 George Clentham came to Kitty's home not long after her return, and he came with 1 very momentous request; but though Kit. 1 ty was very sad about it, he went away with only very sincere regrets on her part.
 Eldred Scott declared he hardly knew how to exist without Aunt Emma, they had been associated together in one way and another for so many years. He was very frequent visitor. Perhaps, having exer- cised such friendly watchfulness of Kitty's movements for so many months, in order that he might alleviate her fathers anxiety, the habit had become to some degree a second nature to him. He certainly begged for the privilege of the right to con tinue it for life. But Kitty's life was blos- soming in happiness and beauty in her de. 1 lightful home, and it was long before she could again make up her mind to leave those who had suffered so much from her former misguided absence. 2a
 She occasionally met William Honeyman driving his fast horses, and having some. times his showily-attired wife beside him.
 ''That fellow knows me, remarked Eld-1 red Scott, on one of these occasions sHe1 was my servant in Paris at one time, and exposed him in a most rascally robbery. He is afraid of me. I saw it in his face the first time met him here." . ~. lI Eldred Scott, who did not know of Kittys former acquaintance with the indi- vidual designated, could have no concep- tion that his words let. in gleam of light upon the sudden buisness matter that on one occasion called Mir. Honeyman so per. emptorily insan unwonted direction; neither { that it enabled her to understand that in 2 the new attitude of the family, and taking into consideration the contingencies of the decision of an offended father, who had taken 8 new wife, Mir. Honeyman de- cided to consider it wise to accept the po- sition of son-in law, without loss of time, in family where the paternal relative was ready to welcome a new member of the I,.e ..,t1z L. co