"Lena!" was all he said, but the tone in which it was said startled them all.
Lena looked up. Never before had she heard her name so spoken. Startled and confused at the suddenness with which she had been called, she answered hastily and nervously, "Yes, Papa."
"What is it, dear?" asked Mrs. Graham.
"Lena knows," was the short reply.
Poor Lena was frightened, not only at the sternness of the voice, but by her father's face. It seemed to her that it had the same look that she had remarked in the photograph and had hoped never to see shown towards her. Her fear and nervousness brought the colour to her looks and gave her the conscious look of guilt.
"I don't know, Papa. What is it?" she faltered out.
"You must know what a dishonourable thing you were doing, reading your Aunt's letter over her shoulder."
"Oh!" she said with a great sigh of relief, "is that all, Papa? Why, I always do it."
Here Aunt Mary interposed hastily, and said, before Colonel Graham could speak the astonishment he certainly felt at Lena's answer, "It is my fault, Henry. Lena always sees my letters. I may have been wrong; but remember she has been niece and child and companion to me all in one. I may have spoilt her in many ways, but I am sure she would not do a dishonourable thing;" and as she spoke, she pulled Lena on to her knee and kissed the troubled little face. "I ought to have told her I did not wish her to read this quite yet, and I am sure she would not have done it."
At her Aunt's kind words Lena burst out crying. The child had been frightened, and the burst of tears relieved her feelings.—"No, Auntie dear, indeed, indeed I would not," she sobbed out.