house. Nelly had chosen a bedroom
right at the top, whence she could look away over the London roofs to
the mists that hid the country.

The blinds were up and the cold winter moon lay on the girl's bed. The
General came in tip-toe, trying to avoid creaking on the bare boards,
which Nelly preferred to carpets. But his precaution was unnecessary.
She was lying wide-awake. The darkness of her eyes in her face,
unnaturally white from the moonlight, frightened him. He had a memory of
Nelly's mother as he had seen her newly-dead, and the memory scared him.

"Is that you, papa?" Nelly asked, half-lifting herself on her pillow.
"Come and sit down. I was thinking of dressing myself and coming down to
you."

"You mustn't do that if your headache is not better."

"It was nothing at all of a headache," she said with a weary little
sigh, "but I must have fallen asleep. If I had not I should have come
down to dinner. I only awoke just before the church clock struck nine.
Were you very lonely?"

"I am always lonely without you, Nell. You have had nothing to eat, have
you? No. Well, perhaps you'd better come down and have a little meal in
the study by the fire. Unless you'd prefer a fire up here. The room
strikes cold. To be sure, the windows are open. There is snow coming, I
think."

"I like the cold. I'm not hungry, but I shall get up presently. I
haven't really gone to bed."

She put out a chilly little hand over her father's, and he took it into
his. When had they wanted anyone but each other? What new love could
ever be as true and tender as his?

"Oh!" cried Nelly, burying her face in her pillow. "I'm a wicked girl to
be discontented. I ought to have everything in the world, having you."

"And when did my Nelly become discontented?" he asked, with a passionate
tenderness. "What has clouded over my girl, the light of the house? What
is it, Nell?"

He had been both father and mother to her. For a second or two she kept
her face buried, as if she would still hold her secret from him. His
hand brushed the pale ripples of her hair, as another hand had brushed
them a short time back. He expected her to answer him, and he was
waiting.

"It is Captain Langrishe," she whispered at last. "His boat goes from
Tilbury to-morrow morning."

"From Tilbury." The General remembered that Grogan of the Artillery, the
club bore, had a daughter and son-in-law sailing from Tilbury next
morning, and had suggested his accompanying him t