ou knew it, and you could have that going on?" he said. "Go back to
your bazaar."

"I certainly will. I think you are terribly unkind."

"You can have those people here, and that band playing, when you know
_that_? Well, if such scenes give you pleasure at such a time, go and
enjoy them."

He strode into the house. She looked after his retreating figure; then
she took out her daintily laced handkerchief, applied it to her eyes,
and went back to her duties.

"I am a martyr in a good cause," she said to herself; "but it is
bitterly hard when one's husband does not understand one."

CHAPTER XIX.

This was better than the phantom ship. This was peace, joy, and
absolute delight. Sibyl need not now only lie in her father's arms
at night and in her dreams. She could look into his face and hear
his voice and touch his hand at all hours, day and night.

Her gladness was so real and beautiful that it pervaded the entire
room, and in her presence Ogilvie scarcely felt pain. He held her
little hand and sat by her side, and at times when she was utterly
weary he even managed to raise her in his arms and pace the room with
her, and lay her back again on her bed without hurting her, and he
talked cheerfully in her presence, and smiled and even joked with her,
and they were gay together with a sort of tender gaiety which had
never been theirs in the old times. At night, especially, he was her
best comforter and her kindest and most tender nurse.

For the first two days after his return Ogilvie scarcely left Sibyl.
During all that time he asked no questions of outsiders. He did not
even inquire for the doctor's verdict. Where was the good of asking a
question which could only receive one answer? The look on the child's
face was answer enough to her father.

Meanwhile, outside in the grounds, the bazaar went on. The marquee was
full of guests, the band played cheerily, the notable people from all
the country round arrived in carriages, and bought the pretty things
from the different stall-holders and went away again.

The weather was balmy, soft and warm, and the little skiffs with their
gay flags did a large trade on the river. Lord Grayleigh was one of
the guests, returning to town, it is true, at night, but coming back
again early in the morning. He heard that Ogilvie had returned and was
naturally anxious to see him, but Ogilvie sent word that he could not
see anyone just then. Grayleigh understood. He shook his h