The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1894-01-21

duI6 Smile. linen ne dQueQ, WIN SOue
impatience, MY dear, do what 1 tell you,
and do it at once"
TWAS an emergency which Dora had
been looking forward to, but that did not
make IL less terrible when it came. She
stood very upright, holding by the table.
The bills2 l dop't know where to
find Them" she said, growing suddenly
very red, and then very pale.
Dora !" cried her father, in a warning
tone. Then he added, with an attempt at
banter, Never mind the doctor. The
doctor is in it; he ought to pay half We
will take his advice. How small diyi-
dend will content our creditors for the
PRESENT. Make haste, and do not lose
any more timer
Dora stood her ground without waver-
ing. Il cannot find them, father" she
said
"You cannot find theml Nonsense!
This is for my good, l suppose, lest l
should not be able to bear it. My dear,
your father declines to be managed for
his good"
81 have not got them" SAID Dora firm
ly, but very pale. II don't know where
to find them; 1 don't want to find them, if
| must say it, father, not to manage you,
but on my own account"
He raised himself upright too, and
looked at her. Their eyes shone with the
same glow; the two faces bore a strange
resemblance-his the lines refined and
Softened by his Illness hers, every curve
straitened and strengthened by force of
passionate feeling.
Father" said Dora almost fiercely, "I
am not childp
"You are not a child ~ faint smile
came over his face. "You are curously
like one," he said, "but what has that
got to do with it?''
"Mannering she is quite right. You
ought to let her have her own way"
A cloud crossed Mr.. Mannering's face
He was a mild man, but he did not easily
brook interference He made q slight
gesture, as if throwing the intruder off.
Father" said Dora again, II have
been the mistress of everything while you
have been ill. You may say the doctor
has done it, or Miss Bethune has done it,
they were very kind friends, and told
me what to debut it was only your own
child that had the right to do things for
you, and the real person was me. l was
little girl when you began to be ill, but
/ am not so now. I've had to act for my
self, father" the girl cried, the color
flaming back into her pale cheeks, 'I've
had to be responsible for great many
things you can't take that from me, for
it had to be. And you have not got bill
in the world
He sat staring at her, half angry, half
admiring, amazed by the change, the de-
velopment, and yet to find her in her i'm
pulsive, childish vehemence exactly the
same.
They're all gone" cried Dora, with
that dreadful womanish inclination to
cry which spoils so many fine climax.
Il had right to them-they were mine
| all through, and not yours. Father, even
Fiddler! I've given you q present
| of that big book which / almost broke my
| arm (if it had not been for Harry Gordon)
carrying back. And now | know its
quarter day, and you're quite well, off.
| Father, now Pm your girl again. to do
what you like and go where you like, and
| never never hear of this more" cried
| flinging herself upon his shoulders, with
her arms round his neck, in paroxyism
of tenderness and tears.
What was the man to do or say2 He
had uttered a cry of pain and shame, and
something like fury, but with the girl
| clinging round his neck, sobbing, flung
upon his mercy, he was helpless. He
looked over Dora's bright head at Dr.
Roland with, Notwithstanding his inter
ference, a sort of appeal for help How
ever keen the pang was both to his heart
and his pride, he could not throw off his
only child from her shelter in his arms.
After a moment his hand instinctively
came upon her hair, smoothed it down,
soothing her, though half against his
will. The other arm, with which he had
half put her away stole round her with
a softer pressure. His child, his only
child, all of his, belonging to no one but
him, and weeping her heart out upon his
neck, altogether thrown upon him to be
excused and pardoned for having given
him all the tendance and care and help
which it was in her to give. He looked
at Roland with a half appeal, yet with
that unconscious pride of superiority in
the man who has towards the man who
has not.
She has the right" said the doctor,
himself moved, but not perhaps with any
sense of inferiority, for though he was
nearly as old as Mr.. Mannering, the
beatitude of having d daughter had not
vet become an ideal bliss to him-''she
has the right: if anybody in the world
has it, she has it, Mannering, and though
she is child, she has a heart and judg-
ment as good as any Of us. You'll have
TO let her do in certain matters what
seemeth good in her own eyes"
Mr. Mannering shook his head, and
then bent it in reluctant acquiescence
with a sigh.
CHAPTER XIV.
The house in Bloomsbury became
vacant and silent.
The people who had given it interest
anu III pOFbduCb WSE6 ulSp6TSeu ana gone.
DR. Roland only remained, solitary and
discontented, feeling himself cast adrift
in the world, angry at the stiffness over
head, where the solid foot of Gilchrist no
longer made the floor creak, or the lighter
step of her mistress sent a thrill of
energy through it; but still more angry
when new dodgers came, and new steps
sounded over the carpet, which, de-
prived of all Miss Bethune's rugs, was
thin and poor
The doctor thought of changing his
lodging himself, in the depression Of that
change; but it is serious matter for a
doctor to change his abode, and Janie's
an@mia was becoming serious case, and
wanted more looking after than ever
would be given TO it were he out of the
way. So he consented to the inevitable,
and remained.
Mrs. Simcox had to refurnish the
second floor, when all MIR. Mannering's
pretty furniture and his books were taken
away, and did it very badly, as was
natural, and got "a couple" for her lodg-
ers, who were quite satisfied with second
hand mahogany and haircloth. DR. Ro-
land looked at the new dodgers when he
met when he met them with eyes blank
with an absence of interest but beginning
soon to see the stock market was telling
upon the first floor, and that the lady on
the second had a cough, he began to al
low himself little TO be shaken out of
his ind fffprpnCp They might hOWeyeV