inquiringly, first at him, and then at Elspie.

"What does she mean?" said Captain Rothesay.

"Puir bairn! I tauld her, when her father was come hame, he wad tak' her
in his arms and kiss her."

Rothesay looked angrily round, but recollected himself. "Your nurse was
right, my dear." Then pausing for a moment, as though arming himself for
a duty--repugnant, indeed, but necessary--he took his daughter on his
knee, and kissed her cheek--once, and no more. But she, remembering
Elspie's instructions, and prompted by her loving nature, clung about
him, and requited the kiss with many another. They melted him visibly.
There is nothing sweeter in this world than a child's unasked voluntary
kiss!

He began to talk to her--uneasily and awkwardly--but still he did it.
"There, that will do, little one! What is your name, my dear?" he said
absently.

She answered, "Olive Rothesay." "Ay--I had forgotten! The name at least,
she told me true." The next moment, he set down the child--softly but as
though it were a relief.

"Is papa going?" said Olive, with a troubled look.

"Yes; but he will come back to-morrow. Once a day will do," he added
to himself. Yet, when his little daughter lifted her mouth for another
kiss, he could not help giving it.

"Be a good child, my dear, and say your prayers every night, and love
nurse Elspie."

"And papa too, may I?"

He seemed to struggle violently against some inward feeling, and then
answered with a strong effort, "Yes."

The door closed after him abruptly. Very soon Elspie saw him walking
with hasty strides along the beautiful walk that winds round the foot of
the castle rock. The nurse sat still for a long time thinking, and then
ended her ponderings with her favourite phrase,

"God guide us! it's a' come richt at last."

Poor, honest, humble soul!

CHAPTER VI.

The return of the husband and father produced a considerable change in
the little family at Stirling. A household, long composed entirely of
women, always feels to its very foundations the incursion of one of the
"nobler sex." From the first morning when there resounded the multiplied
ringing of bells, and the creaking of boots on the staircase, the glory
of the feminine dynasty was departed. Its easy _laisser-aller_, its
lax rule, and its indifference to regular forms were at an end. Mrs.
Rothesay could no longer indulge her laziness--no breakfasting in
bed, and coming down in curl-papers. The long gossiping