hers, — "no, dear! — that is the last thing I want!"

But Fleda's keen ear discerned not only the deep affection,
but something of _regret_ in the voice, which troubled her. She
stood, anxious and fearing while her grandfather lifting his
hand again and again, let it fall gently upon hers; and amid
all the fondness of the action, Fleda somehow seemed to feel
in it the same regret.

"You'll not let aunt Lucy, nor anybody else, take me away from
you, will you, grandpa?" said she after a little, leaning both
arms affectionately on his knee, and looking up into his face.

"No, indeed, dear!" said he, with an attempt at his usual
heartiness, — "not as long as I have a place to keep you.
While I have a roof to put my head under, it shall cover
yours."

To Fleda's hope that would have said enough; but her
grandfather's face was so moved from its wonted expression of
calm dignity, that it was plain _his_ hope was tasting bitter
things. Fleda watched in silent grief and amazement the
watering eye and unnerved lip; till her grandfather,
indignantly dashing away a tear or two, drew her close to his
breast and kissed her. But she well guessed that the reason
why he did not for a minute or two say anything, was because
he could not. Neither could she. She was fighting with her
woman's nature to keep it down, — learning the lesson early!

"Ah well," — said Mr. Ringgan at length, in a kind of tone