as well and as heartily as she could, never to transgress again in
that manner as long as she lived.

While the others were sobbing and crying round Fortune, Iris stood
silent.

"Where is father?" she said at last, in a very quiet but determined
voice.

Fortune glanced round at the grave little girl in some wonder.

"Miss Iris," she said, "you are not even crying."

"What do tears matter?" answered Iris. "Please, Fortune, where is
father? I should like to go to him."

"He is locked up in his study, darling, and could not possibly see you
nor anyone else. He is quite stunned, master is, and no wonder. You
cannot go to him at present, Miss Iris."

Iris did not say another word, but she looked more grave and more
thoughtful than ever. After a long pause she sat down in her own
little chair near the open window. It was a very lovely day, just as
beautiful as the one which had preceded it. As the child sat by the
window, and the soft, sweet breeze fanned her pale cheeks, an
indescribable longing came over her. No one was particularly noticing
her. She crept softly out of the room, ran down some passages, and at
last found herself once more mounting the turret stairs to the tower.
A moment later she had entered the octagon room where she and her
mother had talked together on the previous day. The windows were wide