uel kindness? You are
my father--if I have done wrong, won't you help me to be better in the
future? It isn't as if I were careless of what I have done. You see--
you _see_ how I suffer!" And she held out her arms with a gesture so
wild and heart-broken that her father was startled, and caught her to
him with one of his old, fond gestures.

"My poor child! My little Lettice! Heaven knows I have not intended to
be cruel to you, dear, but I have been so worried and distressed that I
have hardly known what I was about. You must forgive me, dear, and I
will help you in every way I can. I do indeed see that you are
miserable, poor child; but that I cannot help. It is only right that
you should realise--"

"Father, I don't think you or anyone else can tell how intensely I feel
it all. You know I have been a coward all my life--afraid to grieve
anyone, always trying to avoid disagreeable things; and now to feel that
I have ruined Arthur's life and wrecked his happiness, goes through my
heart like a knife. And his poor, poor face! Father, I am too
miserable and ashamed to be sure of anything, but I do believe this will
be a lesson to me all my life. I can never, never be so cruel again! I
will never marry now, but I will try to be a comfort to you, father
dear, and do everything I can to make up for the misery I have caused--
only do, do love me a little bit. Don't everybody stop loving me!"

Mr Bertrand smiled to himself as he stroked the girl's soft hair.
Small fear that he or anyone else would cease caring for lovely, lovable
Lettice; but all the same, his smile was more sad than bright.

"I shall always love you, dear," he said; "but, Lettice, try to think
less of people's love for you, and more of your own love for them. That
is the secret of happiness! This constant craving to receive love is
not far removed from selfishness, when you go down to the root of
things. Try to think of other people first--"

"I will, father--I really will; but don't lecture me to-day, plea-se! I
feel so low and wretched that I can't stand anything more. I am not--
all--all--altogether bad, am I?"

Mr Bertrand laughed despite himself. "No, indeed. Very well, then--no
more lectures. We understand each other now, and there are to be no
more clouds between us. Off with you into the hotel! Put on your hat
and cloak, and we will go for a row on the lake before lunch."

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

A GLAD SURPRISE.