her grandmother; "she sat up for you that you might put her to sleep to-night."
I raised the child in my arms, the pretty little babe with her soft curls falling across her face, and she laid her drowsy head upon my shoulder. I pressed her with joy to my breast as I turned up the narrow, dark stairs; at my movement she sat up suddenly and pushed me from her with both her tiny hands. Oh, wonderful instinct of the child that in the light beheld her father, but in darkness knew me for a stranger!
"You're not my papa! Oh, I want papa!"
"Hush, hush!" I whispered; "I am your papa."
"You're not, you're not!" and she beat upon my breast with both her tiny fists.
"Give me my own papa, you bad, bad man!"
Then a great fury seized me, and I held her over the banisters.
"Call me your father, or I let you go."
"No, no; I want my own papa!"
"Call me your father, or I let you go."
"I want my dood papa!"
I did not mean it, Heaven knows I did not mean it, but my fingers loosed their hold. I
