“Grandfather, I’ll try with all my strength to be what you wish,—I will!”
“And suppose the strength isn’t sufficient, child?”
Even in her humility she could not but feel that this was unjust. Had she ever boasted? Had she ever done more than promise tremblingly what he demanded? But the fear was legitimate. A weak thing, all but heartbroken, could she hope to tread firmly in any difficult path? She hung her head, making no answer. He examined her, seeming to measure the slightness of her frame. Sad, unutterably sad, was the deep breath he drew as he turned his eyes away again.
“Do you feel well this morning, Jane?”
“Yes, grandfather.”
“Have you slept?”
“I couldn’t. You were grieving about me. I hoped never to have disappointed you.”
He fell into reverie. Was he thinking of that poor wife of his, dead long, long ago, the well-meaning girl of whom he had expected impossible things? A second time had he thus erred, no longer with the excuse of in-
