Robin!"

She turned away quickly then, to avoid further discussion.

A little later she went into the quaint oak-panelled room where
the fateful disclosures of the past night had been revealed to
her. Here breakfast was laid, and the latticed window was set wide
open, admitting the sweet scent of stocks and mignonette with
every breath of the morning air. She stood awhile looking out on
the gay beauty of the garden, and her eyes unconsciously filled
with tears.

"Dear home!" she murmured--"Home that is not mine--that never will
be mine! How I have loved you!--how I shall always love you!"

A slow step behind her interrupted her meditations--and she looked
around with a smile as timid as it was tender. There was her
"Dad"--the same as ever,--yet now to her mind so far removed from
her that she hesitated a moment before giving him her customary
good-morning greeting. A pained contraction of his brow showed her
that he felt this little difference, and she hastened to make
instant amends.

"Dear Dad!" she said, softly,--and she put her soft arms about him
and kissed his cheek--"How are you this morning? Did you sleep
well?"

He took her arms from his shoulders, and held her for a moment,
looking at her scrutinisingly from under his shaggy brows.