injustice. It behoves us to be careful not to practise it.'

That evening in the drawing-room my father said, in his usual abrupt way--

'About my departure, Maud: I've had a letter from London this morning, and
I think I shall be called away sooner than I at first supposed, and for a
little time we must manage apart from one another. Do not be alarmed. You
shall not be in Madame de la Rougierre's charge, but under the care of a
relation; but even so, little Maud will miss her old father, I think.'

His tone was very tender, so were his looks; he was looking down on me with
a smile, and tears were in his eyes. This softening was new to me. I felt a
strange thrill of surprise, delight, and love, and springing up, I threw my
arms about his neck and wept in silence. He, I think, shed tears also.

'You said a visitor was coming; some one, you mean, to go away with. Ah,
yes, you love him better than me.'

'No, dear, no; but I _fear_ him; and I am sorry to leave you, little Maud.'

'It won't be very long,' I pleaded.

'No, dear,' he answered with a sigh.

I was tempted almost to question him more closely on the subject, but he
seemed to divine what was in my mind, for he said--

'Let us speak no more of it, but only bear in mind, Maud, what I told you
about the oak cabinet, the key of which is here,' and he held it up as
formerly: 'you remember what you are to do in case Doctor Bryerly should