joy. She
answered the summons, and Captain Rothesay walked in.

We have never described Olivet father--there could not be a better
opportunity than now. His tall, active form--now subsiding into the
muscular fulness of middle age--was that of a Hercules of the mountains.
The face combined Scottish beauties and Scottish defects, which,
perhaps, cease to be defects when they become national peculiarities.
There was the eagle-eye: the large, but well-chiselled features--
especially the mouth; and also there was the high cheek-bone, the rugged
squareness of the chin, which, while taking away beauty, gave character.

When he came nearer, one could easily see that the features of the
father were strangely reflected in those of the child. Altered the
likeness was--from strength into feebleness--from manly beauty into
almost puny delicacy; but it did exist, and, faint as it was, Elspie
perceived it.

Olive was looking up at the clouds, her thin cheek resting against the
embrasure of the window, gazing so intently that she never seemed to
hear her father's voice or step. Elspie motioned him to walk softly, and
they came behind the child.

"Do ye no see, Captain Angus," she whispered, "'tis your ain bonnie
face--ay, and your Mither's. Ye mind her yet?"

Captain Rothesay did not answer, but looked earnestly at his little
daughter. She, turning round, met his eyes. There was something in their
expression which touched her, for a rosy colour suffused her face; she
smiled, stretched out her little hands, and said "Papa!"

How Elspie then prided herself for the continual tutoring which had made
the image of the absent father an image of love!

Captain Rothesay started from his reverie at the sound of the child's
voice. The tone, and especially the word, broke the spell. He felt once
more that he was the father, not of the blooming little angel that he
had pictured, but of this poor deformed girl. However, he was a man in
whom a stern sense of right stood in the place of many softer virtues.
He had resolved on his duty--he had come to fulfil it--and fulfil it he
would. So he took the two little cold hands, and said--

"Papa is glad to see you, my dear."

There was a silence, during which Elspie placed a chair for Captain
Rothesay, and Olive, sliding quietly down from hers, came and stood
beside him. He did not offer to take the two baby-hands again, but did
not repulse them, when the little girl laid them on his knee, looking