What should make you think of him?"

He saw a look of swift disappointment, almost of consternation, darken
her eyes. For the first time her lips quivered uncertainly.

"Who then, Daddy? Not--not Mr. Ratcliffe?"

He bent his head. "Yes, Nick Ratcliffe. I have placed you in his
charge. He will take care of you."

"Young Nick Ratcliffe!" she said slowly. "Why, Daddy, he can't even
take care of himself yet. Every one says so. Besides,"--a curiously
womanly touch crept into her speech--"I don't like him. Only the other
day I heard him laugh at something that was terrible--something it
makes me sick to think of. Indeed, Daddy, I would far rather have
Captain Grange to take care of me. Don't you think he would if you
asked him? He is so much bigger and stronger, and--and kinder."

"Ah! I know," her father said. "He seems so to you. But it is nerve
that your protector will need, child; and Ratcliffe possesses more
nerve than all the rest of the garrison put together. No, it must be
Ratcliffe, Muriel. And remember to give him all your trust, all your
confidence. For whatever he does will be with my authority--with
my--full--approval."

His voice failed suddenly and he rose, turning sharply away from the
light. She clung to his arm silently, in a passion of tenderness,
though she was far from understanding the suffering those last words
revealed. She had never seen him thus moved before.