those of his heavy breathings. Alarmed, she took hold of him by the shoulder.
“Father! father!” she screamed.
The piercing tones of her voice aroused him—he started, looked around, passed one hand hurriedly over his eyes, and then with a long sigh sank back in his chair again.
Relieved from her anxiety, Gertrude drew a seat beside him.
“I have come, father, to converse with you about your misfortunes—perhaps they are not so bad as you imagine.”
“All is lost! every cent!” replied Mr. Leslie, in a husky tone of voice; “but it will make no difference to you, Gertrude, for Julien is a noble fellow; but it is hard for me in my old age to be dependent upon my child.”
“We will not be dependent upon Julien, father—we will go back to our old place at Elmwood, and I can teach music and drawing in the village academy, and we shall be as happy as we have ever been here; for, father, I do not love Julien as I ought to love him, and I have told him so, and we have parted to meet only hereafter as friends.”
The words which she had so dreaded to say had now escaped her lips, and her father’s stern gaze was fixed steadily upon her.
“Gertrude! what have you done?—taken away my only hope!—turned us both out into the world as beggars! I tell you every cent is gone: beggars! beggars!” he repeated in a low, deep tone. He arose from his seat—his face crimsoning with excitement—stepped but one foot forward, then fell over heavily upon the floor.
Gertrude’s screams brought the servants to her. Physicians were immediately summoned, and Mr. Leslie was borne in an unconscious state to his room. They pronounced him in an apoplectic fit, but the usual remedies were tried in vain. Gertrude sat constantly beside him, watching for hours for some sign of returning consciousness. At length the hand which she held moved slightly.
“Oh, father!” she cried, “speak to me once more: do not leave me alone! oh, father! father!”
The agonized tones of her voice seemed to arouse him. His
