soul!
She persuaded herself, all the time, that she was doing right, and
that he was a hardhearted father not to listen to her. He did listen,
apparently; and she took his silence for consent, for she ended with--

"Well, then, it is quite settled; the ball shall be at Merivale, on the
20th of next month."

Angus turned round, his blue eyes glittering, yet cold as steel--"Mrs.
Rothesay, if you will worm the truth out of me, you shall. By next month
you may not have a roof over your head."

He rose up and again quitted the room. Mrs. Rothesay trembled--grew
terrified--but tried to reassure herself. "He only says this in
anger, or else to frighten me. I will not believe it." Then conscience
whispered, that never in her whole life had she known Angus Rothesay to
tell a falsehood; and she trembled more and more. Finally, she passed
into a violent fit of nervous weeping--a circumstance by no means rare.
Her health was weakened by the exciting gaieties of her outward life,
and the inward sorrow which preyed upon her heart.

This night--and not for the first time either--the little maiden of
fifteen might have been seen, acting with the energy and self-possession
of a woman--soothing her mother's hysterical sufferings--smoothing her
pillow, and finally watching by her until she fell asleep. Then Olive
crept downstairs, and knocked at her father's study-door. He said, "Come
in," in a dull, subdued tone. She entered, and saw him sitting, his
head on his hand, jaded and exhausted, leaning over the last embers of
the fire, which had gone out without his noticing it. If there had been
any anger in the child's heart, it must have vanished at once, when she
looked upon her father thus.

"Oh! is that you, Olive?" was all he said, beginning to turn over his
papers, as if to make a show of occupation.

But he soon relapsed into that unknown thought which oppressed him so
much. It was some minutes before he completely aroused himself, and saw
the little elfin-like figure standing beside him, silent and immovable,
with the taper in her hand.

"Shall I bring your candle, dear papa? It is eleven o'clock and more."

"Where is your mother, Olive?"

"She is gone to bed;" and Olive paused, uncertain whether she should
tell him that her mamma was ill. Again there was a silence--during
which, do what he would, Captain Rothesay could not keep his eyes from
the earnest, wistful, entreating gaze of his "little Olive." At last, he
lifted h