Such was the nature of Mr.Hamilton's feelings for his daughter, whenever the short cough or hectic cheek happened to make their appearance from time to time, and foreshadow, as it were, the certainty of an early death; and then he should be childless--a lonely man in the world, possessing a heart overflowing with affection, and yet without an object on which he could lavish it, as now, with happiness and delight.

He looked, therefore, upon decline as upon an approaching foe, and the father's heart became sentinel for the welfare of his child, and watched every symptom of the dreaded disease that threatened her, with a vigilance that never slept.

Under such circumstances we need not again assure our readers that his parental tenderness for this beautiful girl--now his "only one," as he used to call her--was such as is rare even in the most affectionate families; but in this case the slight and doubtful tenure which his apprehensions told him he had of her existence raised his love of her almost to idolatry.

Still she improved in person, grace, and intellect; and although an occasional shadow, as transient as that which passes over and makes dim the flowery fields of May or April, darkened her father's heart for a time, yet it passed away, and she danced on in the light of youthful happiness, without a single trace of anxiety or care.
Her father's affection for her was not, however, confined to herself; on the contrary, it passed to and embraced every object that was dear to her--her favorite books, her favorite playthings, and her favorite companions.

Among the latter, without a single rival, stood her young friend, Alice Goodwin, who was then about her own age.