"Come in!" rather impatiently.
With a smile Lianor opened the door, and entered, followed by
Pantaleone.
In the room, handsomely fitted up as a study, sat a fine-looking,
middle-aged man, busily wilting; his dark face wore an expression of
severity as he glanced toward the intruders.
It quickly faded, however, on seeing the pretty figure standing there;
instead, a gentle smile wreathed his lips.
"Well, Lianor, dearest, what is it?"
"Papa," and the girl stole noiselessly behind his chair, winding her
arms around his neck. "I am so miserable, I have nothing to amuse me,
and unless you do something to make me happier, I shall go melancholy
mad!"
"My dearest child, what is the matter? Are you ill?" anxiously turning
to peer into the lovely face.
"No, papa; but I am so tired of this life."
"That is not like my little girl. And I have tried hard to make you
happy. Nothing in reason have I refused you--jewels, such as a queen
might envy; priceless stuffs to deck your pretty form, and other
things which no girl of your age ever possessed," reproachfully.
Lianor bent down, and kissed his brow, lovingly--repentingly.
"You have been a great deal too good to me. But there is something
more I wish to ask; it will make me happy if you will grant my
request.
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