ol? Cannot your father take care of
himself? Give me the brandy again."

But she held it fast, and made no answer.

"Olive, I say--do you insult me thus?" and his voice rose in anger. "Go
to bed, I command you! Will you not?"

"No!" The refusal was spoken softly--very softly--but it expressed
indomitable firmness; and there was something in the girl's resolute
spirit, before which that of the man quailed. With a sudden transition,
which showed that the drink had already somewhat overpowered his brain,
he melted into complaints.

"You are very rude to your poor father; you--almost the only comfort he
has left!"

This touch even of maudlin sentiment went direct to Olive's heart. She
clung to him, kissed him, begged his forgiveness, nay, even wept over
him. He ceased to rage, and sat in a sullen silence for many minutes.
Meanwhile Olive took away every temptation from his sight. Then she
roused him gently.

"Now, papa, it is time to go to bed. Pray, come upstairs."

He--the calm, gentlemanlike, Captain Rothesay--burst into a storm of
passion that would have disgraced a boor. "How dare you order me about
in this manner! Cannot I do as I like, without being controlled by
you--a mere chit of a girl--a very child?"

"I know I am only a child," answered Olive, meekly. "Do not be angry
with me, papa; do not speak unkindly to your poor little daughter."

"My daughter! how dare you call yourself so, you white-faced,
mean-looking hunchback!"----

At the word, Olive recoiled--a strong shudder ran through her frame; one
long, sobbing sigh, and no more.

Her father, shocked, and a little sobered, paused in his cruel speech.
For minutes they remained--he leaning back with a stupefied air--she
standing before him; her face drooped, and covered with her hands.

"Olive!" he muttered, in a repentant, humbled tone.

"Yes, papa."

"I am quite ready. If you like, I'll go to bed now."

Without speaking, she lighted him up-stairs--nay, led him, for, to his
bitter shame, the guidance was not un-needed. When she left him, he had
the grace to whisper--

"Child, you are not vexed about anything I said?"

She looked sorrowfully into his hot fevered face, and stroked his arm.
"No--no--not vexed at all! You could not help it, poor father!"

She heard her mother's feeble voice speaking to him as he entered,
and saw his door close. Long she watched there, until beneath it she
perceived not one glimmer of light. Then she crept away