to desist.

Sometimes, when letter after letter came from the father, full of
inquiries about his precious first-born,--Sybilla, whose fault was more
in weakness than deceit, resolved that she would nerve herself for the
terrible task. But it was vain--she had not strength to do it.

The three years extended into four, and still Captain Rothesay sent gift
after gift, and message after message, to his daughter. Still he wrote
to the conscience-stricken mother how many times he had kissed the
"little lock of golden hue," severed from the baby-head; picturing the
sweet face and lithe, active form which he had never seen. And all
the while there was stealing about the old house at Stirling a pale,
deformed child: small and attenuated in frame--quiet beyond its years,
delicate, spiritless, with scarce one charm that would prove its lineage
from the young beautiful mother, out of whose sight it instinctively
crept.

Thus the years fled with Olive Rothesay and her parents; each month,
each day, sowing seeds that would assuredly spring up, for good or for
evil, in the destinies of all three.

CHAPTER IV.

The fourth year of Captain Rothesay's absence passed,--not without
anxiety, for it was war-time, and his letters were frequently
interrupted. At first, whenever this happened, his wife fretted
extremely--_fretted_ is the right word, for it was more a fitful chafing
than a positive grief. Sybilla knew not the sense of deep sorrow. Her
nature resembled one of those sunny climes where even the rains are
dews. So, after a few disappointments, she composed herself to the
certainty that nothing would happen amiss to her Angus; and she
determined never to expect a letter until she received it, and not to
look for _him_ at all until he wrote her word that he was coming. He
was sure to do what was right, and to return to his dearly-loved wife
as soon as ever he could. And, though scarce acknowledging the fact to
herself, her husband's return involved such a humiliating explanation
of truth concealed, if not of positive falsehood, that Sybilla dared
not even think of it. Whenever the long-parted wife mused on the joy of
meeting--of looking once more into the beloved face, and being lifted up
like a child to cling round his neck with her fairy arms, for Angus was
a very giant to her--then there seemed to rise between them the phantom
of the pale, deformed child.

To drown these fancies, Sybilla rushed into every amusement wh