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 that might
indicate the giving up a struggle which he had no means of carrying on, or
the endeavour to conceal it from the too keen-wrought feelings of his
little granddaughter,--"there will be a way opened for us somehow. We must
let our Heavenly Father take care of us."

"And he will, grandpa," whispered Fleda.

"Yes dear!--We are selfish creatures. Your father's and your mother's
child will not be forgotten."

"Nor you either, dear grandpa," said the little girl, laying her soft
cheek alongside of his, and speaking by dint of a great effort.

"No," said he, clasping her more tenderly,--"no--it would he wicked in me
to doubt it. He has blessed me all my life long with a great many more
blessings than I deserved; and if he chooses to take away the sunshine of
my last days I will bow my head to his will, and believe that he does all
things well, though I cannot see it."