Mrs. Custis felt uneasy before the
aroused mind of her child.
"Don't look at me so, Vesta," the poor lady pleaded. "I thought you
ought to know it."
"How dare you say that of my father? Of Judge Custis?"
As they were in this suspense of feeling, wheels were heard. The
daughter went to the window and looked down, and then returned to her
mother's ear.
"Hush, mother, it is papa. Now, wash your eyes at the toilet. Let us
meet him cheerfully. Never say again that he is beyond reclamation,
while we can try!"
A kiss smoothed Mrs. Custis's countenance. Vesta was dressed for
breakfast in a few moments, and descended to the library and was
received in her father's arms. He held her there a long while, and held
her close, and by little fits renewed his embrace, but she felt that his
breath was feverish and his arms trembled. Looking up at him she saw,
indeed, that he was flushed, yet haggard and careworn.
"Vessy," he spoke with a feeble attempt to smile, "I want a glass of
brandy. Mine gave out at the Furnace, and the morning ride has weakened
me. Where is the key?"
She looked at him with a half-glance, so that he might not suspect, as
if to measure his need of stimulant. Then, without a word, she led the
way to the dining-room and unlocked the liquor closet, and turned her
back lest he might not drink his need from sensitiveness.
"Naughty man," said Vesta, standing off and looking at him when he was
done.
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