evening. He would look in, were it but for half-an-hour, to bid them
adieu.

"Why, where's Hector?" asked Mr. McIntyre, blinking round from side to
side.

"He's not come, father. How could you expect him to come on such a
night as this? Why, there must be two feet of snow in the glebe field."

"Not come, eh?" croaked the old man, throwing himself down upon the
sofa. "Well, well, it only wants him and his father to throw us over,
and the thing will be complete"

"How can you even hint at such a thing, father?" cried Laura
indignantly. "They have been as true as steel. What would they think
if they heard you"

"I think, Robert," he said, disregarding his daughter's protest, "that I
will have a drop, just the very smallest possible drop, of brandy. A
mere thimbleful will do; but I rather think I have caught cold during
the snowstorm to-day."

Robert went on sketching stolidly in his folding book, but Laura looked
up from her work.

"I'm afraid there is nothing in the house, father," she said.

"Laura! Laura!" He shook his head as one more in sorrow than in anger.
"You are no longer a girl, Laura; you are a woman, the manager of a
household, Laura. We trust in you. We look entirely towards you.