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Show "What can keep papa? It is almost half past six. I am afraid we cannot go, after all." "Don't fidget, Bella; a girl who is getting to be a young lady should have more self control. Your papa is often detained by business. Make yourself as happy as possible until he comes." "But, mamma, we shall be late, and perhaps have to give up the concert, and it will be such a disappointment." "Well, Addie, I shall be very sorry for you if you are disappointed, but we will not borrow trouble. Come, your sister has taken a book; follow her example, and the time will pass more quickly." "There's papa, now," exclaimed little Wilhemina. "But why does he ring, instead of using his key?" "Mr. Arnot, ma'am," announced the girl who had answered the bell, and following her closely a gentleman entered the room. A strong, broad shouldered frame; a head crowned with dark hair thickly sprinkled with gray, and a face on which many lines were traced. Mr. Arnot looked as if he might be the father of the lad who thirty years before had been dismissed from his clerkship, and had been cheered by Edgar Foster's sympathy. The girls started eagerly forward to greet "Uncle Henry," but something in his manner checked them. "You are all well, I hope?" he asked, nervously. "Quite well, thank you, sit down; Edgar will be in presently." Mrs. Foster spoke cheerfully, though her heart was full of misgivings. "Have you seen papa?" demanded little Wilhelmina, who had been studying her uncle's face closely. He lifted the child to his knee, and kissed her without speaking. But reading the growing anxiety in his sister's face, he answered the look. "Your husband is quite well, Nellie, and-perfectly safe." "Then what have you come to tell us?" asked Mrs. Foster steadily. "Send the children away," said Mr. Arnot, hoarsely. But the elder girls, thoroughly frightened, now clung to their mother, and Eddie, who had been so quiet that his uncle had not seen him until now, came out of his corner, and stood silently at his mother's side. Mrs. Foster paid no attention to them. She only looked into her brother's face, with eyes that would read the truth. "Your husband has been charged-that is, there are some who think that-that he has used money which was not his own, and he is detained at his office at present-will be detained from you until this matter can be cleared up," he added, reluctantly answering those questioning eyes. "How dare they?" cried Bella, bursting into hysterical sobs. "Oh, papa, papa!" "Eddie," said the mother quickly, "go to my room and get the ammonia from my medicine closet; Addie has fainted." Uncle Henry lifted the young girl and carried her to a sofa, and Bella checked her tears to help them chafe the cold hands. No one noticed that Wilhelmina had slipped out of the room. They supposed that she understood nothing that had been said, ans they had only just begun to miss her when, twenty minutes later, she was walking up the steps of her father's office. Two or three gentlemen were talking earnestly in an outer room. They were her father's business friends and knew the little one well. But she passed them without a word, and went on through the open door into the inner room. Her father was sitting, still and white, beside the table; some gentlemen were standing around it, and an officer stood at a respectful distance. The child walked up to her father and placed her hand on his arm. "Papa!" Mr. Foster started and looked up, and then covered his face with his hands. "Oh, Willy, my little Willy! What made you come?" "I came to be with you," said the child firmly, and then she turned a flashing face on the group around the table. "How dare you say that my father did something wrong? How can you be so wicked?" More than one head was turned away to hide the starting tears, but no one could find words to answer the child. "Why don't you tell them, papa? Why don't you say that you didn't! Everybody knows you're good. Speak, papa!" What would Edgar Foster have given to be able to look into those pure eyes and say that he was innocent! He shook as with an ague, and the clasp of Willy's arms around his neck, and the touch of her lips on his cheek, was agony. "Take her away! This is killing me," he gasped, as she repeated over and over "Speak, papa! Tell them you didn't." But Willy only clung closer to him, and resisted the hands that would have drawn her away from her miserable father. "Willy, mamma sent me to look for you." It was Eddie's voice, and the strong man groaned, as he caught sight of the boyish form on the other side of the table. The boy did not even glance at his father's face, and his own was flushed, yet set and hard. He had heard his sister's last appeal, and his father's silence stabbed him to the heart. Mr. Foster unclasped Willy's clinging hands and carried her to her brother. "Take her home, my boy," he said huskily. Eddie struggled for an instant to control his feelings, and then with a burst of childish sorrow threw himself into his father's arms. Those standing around turned one after another, and walked to the door, and the father and children were left alone. In that hour of bitter anguish, Edward Foster met a penalty tenfold heavier than any that could have come upon him for his early wrong-doing. But who shall say that, even at this late hour, remorse may not be followed by sincere repentance, and the man yet be saved? |