"It is you," he said. He seemed a little dazed.

She ran to him and, seizing his listless arms, put them round her.

"Give me a hug, Dad," she commanded. "A real hug."

He held her to him for what seemed a long while. There was strength in
his arms, in spite of the bowed shoulders and white hair.

"I was afraid you had forgotten how to do it," she laughed, when at last
he released her. "Do you know, you haven't hugged me, Dad, since I was
five years old. That's nineteen years ago. You do love me, don't you?"

"Yes," he answered. "I have always loved you."

She would not let him light the gas. "I have dined--in the train," she
explained. "Let us talk by the firelight."

She forced him gently back into his chair, and seated herself upon the
floor between his knees. "What were you thinking of when I came in?" she
asked. "You weren't asleep, were you?"

"No," he answered. "Not that sort of sleep." She could not see his
face. But she guessed his meaning.

"Am I very like her?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered. "Marvellously like her as she used to be: except for
just one thing. Perhaps that will come to you later. I thought, for the