"Merciful Heaven! what a lie, to deprive me of my father's love, and send me from my home, among unknown friends, so far away! I cannot, cannot go; I cannot leave my father, even though it kill me to remain," gasped the young girl, in tears and bitterness of heart, as she sank helpless and hopeless upon the snowy bed that stood, a monster ghost, in the moonlit chamber. For hours she lay in silence and in sorrow, and when sleep came at length, the spoken words of her slumber but revealed the burden of her heavy heart in the oft-repeated words, "I cannot, cannot, will not go."

CHAPTER XX.

A WEEK passed. No word concerning the projected journey had been spoken by her father, and the young girl was beginning to hope that it might have been only the burden of an idle conversation, not a project really determined upon by either parent. But early one morning, as Mr. Mordecai caught the sound of music floating out from the drawing-room-such tender music-he laid aside the paper he was reading, and slipped softly toward the room whence came the sounds.

This sudden and unusual manifestation of musical skill, this morning outburst of melody, astonished the father, and his approach to the drawing-room was as much from surprise as for the pleasure of a nearer enjoyment of his daughter's skilful performance. Unconscious of any approaching footstep, Leah sat, pale and statuesque, at the elegant instrument, and drew forth, at intervals, strains of witching melody. The absorbed expression of her emotionless face told plainly that music was the one channel through which the pent-up feelings of her heart found an outlet. How often is this divine art the unsyllabled expression of a miserable, or an overjoyed heart.

"My daughter," at length said Mr. Mordecai tenderly, after standing for some moments unobserved behind Leah.

"Is it you, father?" she replied, turning suddenly around, "I did not hear you come in."

"No, my love, I came softly that I might not disturb you; came to thank you for the sweet music that in this early morning sounds-so heavenly, I will say. Play me something else, as sweet and tender as the sonata you have just finished, and then come here and sit beside me; I have something to tell you."

"With all my heart, father," Leah replied, rising and turning through a mass of music. "Shall it be a song, father?"

"By all means, my dear."

And drawing forth the well-worn pages of Beethoven's "Adelaide," the young girl reseated herself, and sang.

The tender words of her father, as well as the ominous ones, "I have something to tell you," startled Leah, and caused the chords of love and fear to vibrate wildly within her bosom. Yet she concealed her deeper feelings, and sang-beautifully, bravely, sweetly-the tender, ravishing love-ditty which she knew was her father's favorite. The melody died away, the chords relaxed and hushed their sweetness, and Leah turned toward her father, awaiting the words of commendation that he always awarded to her performances. But he was silent.

Seated upon a divan near by, Mr. Mordecai presented a striking appearance, which Leah at once observed. He was attired in his crimson morning-gown, adorned with golden bordering, and wore a becoming scarlet cap carelessly adjusted upon his head; a golden tassel hung from the cap beside the thoughtful face, and the half-snowy beard which spread like a silken fringe upon his bosom.

His head was half-averted, and the sharp black eyes seemed to rest immovably upon some central figure on the luxurious tapestry. He was so absorbed that he heeded not the cessation of the music, nor was he aroused from his abstraction till Leah seated herself beside him and said:

"Now, father, I am ready to hear you."

"Forgive me, daughter, if I seem unmindful of your charming song; but thoughts for your welfare filled my reverie."

"What thoughts, father?" Leah asked fearfully.

"Well, listen to me. I have planned for you, my daughter, a most delightful and profitable journey. Assured that you possess musical talent of the highest order, I desire that talent to be most highly cultivated. The culture you need cannot be obtained in this country; so I have written to my cousin, Baron von Rosenberg, to have you become a member of his distinguished family for a time. Under his care and direction, your studies can be pursued to the greatest advantage. What do you think of the arrangement?"

As Mr. Mordecai was unfolding what he supposed would be a pleasant surprise to his daughter, he marked the serious, even pained expression of her face, and wondered at it.

Leah was silent. Then, with an air of surprise and disappointment, her father repeated the inquiry. "What do you think of my plan? You cannot possibly dislike it, my daughter!"

"Saxony is a great way off from you, dear father-I believe the baron lives in Saxony. I do not think I could be happy so far away from you, the only living human being who loves me truly in this cold world." The last words were spoken bitterly.

"Your words astonish me, my child; they savor of ingratitude, and are strange words for your lips. What can you mean?"

Leah trembled that so much had escaped her hitherto silent lips, betraying even faintly the true feeling of her heart; and repressing the words that would have followed had her father not offered his rebuke, she replied quickly:

"Forgive me, dear father, if I seem ungrateful; perhaps I do not appreciate the love I enjoy; but I do not wish to go so far away from you. And you will not send me, will you?"

"Never trouble about me, my daughter; go and stay a year, if no longer; that's a short period of time, when it is past. Go for the improvement you will get. Go and become distinguished, my child;"

and the ambitious parent's eye kindled with a new light at the thought.

Leah made no reply, and the father, releasing the delicate hand he had so tenderly held, said again and again, "Never mind me, child, never mind me; a year's a short time. Go and become distinguished."

The banker went to his counting-house that day, elated with the project for his daughter's pleasure and improvement, little dreaming where, or for what purpose, this plan was conceived; and Leah spent its lonely hours in sorrow and in tears.

CHAPTER XXI.

LE GRANDE'S DIARY.

"October 3.

"I HAVE been in such a maze of suspense and bewilderment for a month, dear Journal, that I have neglected you; to-night I'll recall, if I can, some of my lost days. No, I can't. It makes no diference; they were only days of trouble. I am perplexed to death to know the result of the baron's letter. He wrote, of course, and urged that Mr. Mordecai send Leah at once to him. And the preparations are going rapidly forward for her departure. Every day I say, 'Darling, stay with me,' and her father says, 'Daughter, you must go.' 'We shall see, in the end, what the end will be.'

"October 15.-To-night, dear Journal, I make the most triumphant record of my life. Tell it not, breathe it not, to a mortal soul!

Leah, my darling, has promised to marry me, and not go to Europe, as her father had determined. She told me last night, when I met her in the park, that her mind was made up. She would not go. She did not wish to go, and to marry me was her only alternative. She loves me, though, and we shall be happy, I am sure. My parents are bitterly opposed, and hers will be, to such a union, but we will be married, for all that. Helen alone is in my confidence; she has none of that pride that revolts at Leah's being a Jewess. To-morrow I leave for Havana, where I go with papers from our banking house to a branch house in that city. If I am successful in making my business arrangements, as I feel assured I shall be, then all will be well. I can only remain two days, as the day for Leah's embarkation is not a fortnight off. My mother and father know nothing of the business that takes me away, yet I have not deceived them. But, Journal, good night.

"October 28.-Home again from Havana-home with bounding heart and glowing hopes. I admire that fine City of the Antilles almost as much as I do my beloved, native Queen City. I shall enjoy my new home, I know. How could I do else than enjoy it? With a satisfactory salary in our branch house, and a lovely young wife, a heathen might well be happy. Now, old Mordecai can keep his gold, if he likes, and ny father can do the same. The opposition has driven me to rely more implicitly upon myself, thank the fates. I shall be able to 'paddle my own canoe.' Leah looks something like those Spanish beauties, only she's a trifle sadder in expression. I trust she'll be happy in her new home, amid Cuban bloom and under azure skies. Heaven grant her an unclouded life. I am delirious with joy; and for fear of committing too much to your keeping, Journal, I'll stop writing.

Adieu."

CHAPTER XXII.

"AUNT BARBARA," said Leah, the day before the proposed departure of the vessel that was to bear her away, "will you tell Mingo to leave the key of the lodge hanging just inside the inner door to-night. I may be coming in, or going out late, and he need not be disturbed, if he will do that." These words were addressed to a middle-aged colored woman, who, with high-turbaned head, moved busily about Leah's apartment, folding garments and packing trunks, and sighing, ever and anon, as though enduring heart-felt grief at the prospect of the approaching parting.

"Yes, dear chile, I'll tell him, if you wish. Dere is not many more times for your dear feet to pass in and out of de lodge;" and accompanying these simple, pathetic words was an outburst of honest tears, that fell upon the tidy white apron which the kind soul held to her eyes.

"Will you miss me, Aunt Barbara, when I am gone?" said Leah, deeply moved by the old colored woman's manifestation of sorrow.