Year: 1879

out package of letters. They were the
week from the convent ever since he had
placed Rose Paulier there. The first
fourteen, received in seven years, were
merely acknowledgements of remit
tances, and few lines from the superb
or, stating that her charge was well and
doing we'll. The next one informed him
that Miss Rose, being sixteen, and old
enough and capable of teaching, desired
his permission to be independent, and
remain at the convent as teacher. She
could now pay her own way there. The
doctor had consented, but urged that
she would consider him friend, and
continue to inform him of her progress.
The next letter had been from the young
lady herself-a mere line formally sta
ting that she was well, and that the next
year her salary would be SO much in
creased that she would be able to COM
mence repaying him the money he had
advanced for her education. This letter
he had answered in very stiff way
He had not expected nor desired the
money to be repaid, he said, and should
feel hurt if she insisted. Still, he had
no intention to dictate to the young
lady.


After that, there had not been a word
till that very spring, in March. Then
two letters came-one from the superior,
and one from her young charge. Rose
desired to become nun, but did not
think it right to do so without first in
forming him; and the superior assured
him that she had no doubt of the girls
vocation, and did not believe her resolu-
ton to be from any excitement of feel
ing, but the result of q conviction that
such life was best suited to her. To
these communications he had answered
that Rose was in no way under his au-
thority, and was old enough to choose
for herself. He earnestly recommended,
however, that she would see something
of the world before deciding to give it
up. That was all that he had heard or
written.


He took up this last letter from Rose,
and read it over in the full glow of new
ly awakened interest and feeling. 1t
had been received when he was very
much re-occupied and had dwelt in his
mind but brief time. 1t was a pretty
letter, neatly folded, we'll written-alto-
gether answering the Doctors idea of
what young lady's letter should be-
Something sweet and gentle in the tone
of it-something sad, too, but with a
constitutional, not conscious, melan-
choly-struck him as he read it this
second time. He paused, too, over one
sentence which he had not noticed at
first:


81 promised you when / came here
that would never do anything of inn
portance without first consulting you.-
Perhaps yor have forgotten this prom
ise-but / have not"


1t all came up before him-the drive
on that June morning, and the pale lit
tie cheek pressed against his breast,
while, with an earnestness which woke
a new echo in his heart when he re-
membered 1.-THE had required that prom
ised from her. 1t all came back. You
may have forgotten, but have not" 1t
sounded like reproach.


In all these ten years Doctor Thayer
had not once seen Rose. At first there
had been reasons why he could not;
later, he had seen no reason why he
should. The convent was scarcely a
place for gentleman to call, particular
ly when he could give no explanation to
the world for his going there; and they
had not seemed to expect him. For ten
years he had lived within six miles of
this girl, whom he had called the first
child of his heart, and had not once set
eyes on her.


"I will go this afternoon" he said !;
"and now for my letter."


The letter was written, sealed and
directed to Mr.. Stanley; and there the
writer stopped, remembering that he
must get that gentleman's address = a
somewhat embarrassing necessity, since
there was no one to ask but Mrs. Burk-
hardt. Tomorrow would have. to do
for that. Then the doctor rang the bell
and ordered his dinner to be an hour
earlier than usual, and that his carriage
should be at the door Immediately after
dinner. This little household moved
like clock.work, and at precisely four