happy, when he found it was too late.

"You must think, dear, that while I have been happy all these years
with you, he has been sorrowing and grieving, and you must try and love
him, and make up to him for what he has suffered. I know you will not
forget your old friends. You will love me whether you see me often or
not; and Mrs. Walsham, who has been very kind to you; and James, you
know, who saved your life."

"I shall never forget anyone, grampa. I shall always love you better
than anyone," the child exclaimed, throwing her arms round his neck
with a fresh burst of tears.

"There, there, my pet," the sergeant said soothingly. "You must not cry
any more. I want you to look your best this evening, you know, and to
do credit to us all. And now, I think we have settled everything, so we
will be going back to tea."

That evening, the squire was sitting by himself in the great dining
room, occasionally sipping the glass of port, which John Petersham had
poured out before he left the room. The curtains were drawn, and the
candles lighted; for it was late in September, and the evenings were
closing in fast; and the squire was puzzling over John Petersham's
behaviour at dinner.

Although the squire was not apt to observe closely what was passing
around him, he had been struck with the old butler's demeanour. That
something was wrong with him was clear. Usually he was the most quiet
and methodical of servants, but he had blundered several times in the
service. He had handed his master dishes when his plate was already