A GLOOMY BREAKFAST. 71

room, which is hushed, however, on the sound
of heavy footsteps approaching the open
window, and as Father seats himself at the
table and glances round at us, we one and all
appear to be deeply engaged with our break-
fasts,

“Tea or coffee?” says my aunt, as she
reaches over for a cup.

“Coffee,” replies Father, and then he tears
open a letter and frowns over the contents.
Aunt has filled the cup, and is just m the
act of adding the milk, when Father looks
up again and startles her by saying, “No;
give me some tea; I’ve got a confounded
headache this morning, and if it’s not better
after my breakfast I shall put off going away
till to-morrow.”

A wild terror falls on all of us, but on me
particularly, and my hand shakes so at hear-
ing this awful announcement that the risole
which Freda has just telegraphed for, and
which I am fishing from the dish, trembles
on the fork and falls on to the cloth, break-
ing into several pieces with the shock. I