“I wish it more than anything else in the world, my child.”
“Father, you have named every young man in the neighborhood whom you would like as a son-in-law?”
“Every one, my daughter.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure, my love. Why do you ask?”
She slid down from her low ottoman to the floor, and laid her arms upon his knees and her beautiful black ringleted head upon her folded hands, and whispered:
“Because, dear father, there is one whom you have forgotten to name: one who loves me, and is altogether well worthy to be called your son.”
“Ah!” cried the old man fiercely, under his breath—“a fortune-hunter, on my life! the danger is nearer than I had even apprehended!”
“No, father, no! He is as far as possible from being what you say!” fervently exclaimed Sybil.
“He is wealthy, then?”