his daughter was in his room standing over him while he wrote a letter, he unlocked a drawer of his writing-table and took out a little picture-frame. "You may like to see that, my dear," he said, with face still turned downwards on his letter, and put it into her hands. It was the portrait of her mother, a poorly-executed affair in the stiff drawing of a native artist, but giving the impression of being a faithful likeness. "You are the very image of her," he said, after a short pause, in a low voice, while Olivia stood looking silently at the portrait, and then taking the case from her hands put it back again in the drawer. Olivia stooped down and kissed him on the forehead; he went on with his writing, and she left the room.
On one occasion only did her father show much animation on domestic matters. It happened a few days after she had arrived. They were just rising from the breakfast-table, and Justine, who always took that meal with them, had left the room, when Olivia said, "I have had a letter this morning from cousin Rupert, papa."
"Cousin Rupert!" said her father, with surprise; "what do you know of cousin Rupert?" laying emphasis on the cousin.
"Why, papa, of course I know him very well; don't you remember that he came to Venice on his way home, when my aunt and I were staying there, and that you wrote to us about him?"
"True," replied the father, "I had forgotten that for the moment; but things have altered since then. I certainly did not think he would venture to write to you after what has happened. But it is just like him."
"What has happened, papa? Poor fellow! he speaks of being in trouble, but does not say what is the cause of it."
"I would rather not go into the story, my dear. It is a long business, and not a very pleasant one, where relationship is concerned; but I have given up all communication with him. However it does not appear that he has acquainted you with the fact;" and Mr. Cunningham spoke in a sarcastic tone, unlike his usual manner.
"But, papa," said Olivia after a pause, "may there not be some misunderstanding which could be cleared up? So honourable a man as my cousin Rupert ——"
"You are begging the question, Olivia. It is because I don't think your cousin Rupert is an honourable man that our intimacy is broken off. You seem to think I have been hard on him," continued her father, seeing that Olivia looked unconvinced; "but I think you may give me credit for not having formed my opinion lightly. And if," he added in a lower voice, and turning away, "I am to suppose that he has taken advantage of your trustfulness to create a feeling for him which he knows I should disapprove, I should think still less favourably of him than I do already."
"Then, papa," said Olivia, looking down and blushing slightly, as he was moving from the room, "do you wish me not to send any answer to this?" and she held out the letter in her hand. "Will you not read it yourself, and see what he says?"
"No, my dear, thank you; I have no wish to see it, nor to dictate to you what you should do in regard to it. I am sure I may rely implicitly on your good sense and judgment in this as in all matters." And so saying her father left the room.
Thus appealed to, Olivia had virtually no choice, and her cousin's letter remained unanswered; but it was with a sad heart that she tried to reconcile her duty to her father's wishes with this neglect of her relative, and the struggle might have betrayed to herself the degree of interest with which he had inspired her. Till this time she had hardly been sensible how much of the pleasurable anticipations with which she had set out for India had been due to the prospect of meeting her cousin. And now to think that Rupert, who had always seemed in her young imagination the type of the noble, honourable soldier, should be as one whose name even was hardly to be spoken of! Some dreadful fault he must have committed for her father, usually so kind, to be thus sternly disposed towards him. Might it not be, however, that he had been misjudged? He said he had enemies who were bent on traducing his character. There must be some mistake! And yet her father spoke so positively, and he seemed kind and just in everything else. Thinking sadly over this, Olivia strove to stifle the romantic interest with which her cousin had inspired her; and what might readily have become a warmer feeling, if opportunity had been propitious, was now succeeded by a sentiment of pity.
The unanswered letter was as follows:
