ll see him," he said to
Roberta, "just as soon as he awakes."

The child could not repress her eagerness.

"I can't wait," she cried; "I want to see him so bad. Let me go in and
look at him while he is asleep. I won't make any noise. That's the way I
do mamma when she has headache."

"Well," said the officer, smiling, "go right in."

Squire started to follow.

"No; you wait outside. Two at once might make him a little nervous. He has
been a very sick man."

Roberta crept softly in on tiptoe. The room was darkened, and there was no
light save the reflection of the fire. Colonel Marsden was, in health, a
superbly handsome man. But, as he lay there in the dim light, emaciated
and pallid, there was something almost touching in the droop of his
shoulders and the look of helpless weakness about the mouth. It was not
long before he stirred uneasily and opened his eyes. His gaze fell
directly on the child sitting beside him and looking at him with her whole
heart in her eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Roberta Marsden. My papa's name is Robert, and my mamma called me
Roberta after him."

[Illustration: "My Papa's name was Robert, and my Mamma named me Roberta,
after him."]

He raised himself upon one elbow. A flush burned in his cheeks. It was
like a flame through alabaster.

"I don't understand," he said; "what does it all mean?"

Right there old Squire put in an appearance.

"Don't you know me, Mars Robert? It's Squire dat useter 'long ter you."

"Yes; I know you. How are you, Squire? But this child, who is she?"

"Your own flesh an' blood, Mars Robert, born'd after you went away an'
left Miss July."

Colonel Marsden sank back on the pillow with a groan and covered his eyes
with his hands.

"O, Uncle Squire!" cried Roberta, "you have hurt his feelings. But she
isn't mad at you, Papa, not a bit. She told me to tell you, that for ten
long years the string has been on the outside of the latch for you. She
did indeed, Papa."

"She is an angel," said Colonel Marsden. There was moisture in his fine
eyes.

"That's what Mam' Sarah says. She says she is afraid every morning that
she will find mamma's wings sprouting."

"But why was I not written to? Why was I not told I had a child?" Again a
groan escaped him. "My God!" he cried, "I forgot I had no right to
expect that. Like a self-willed child I wantonly threw away life's
choicest blessings, was unmindful of its most sacred obligations."

His lips m