all debts. So he
sold the tea-gardens for building on, and has lived there in the Grotto
on next to nothing, and all these years he's been paying off his
father's creditors. I should think they're about paid off by now.'

'Has he a little girl?' asked Phyllis.

'Yes--I believe so,' said father absently.

'It's very odd,' Mabel was beginning, but the others silenced her.

After this the children were more interested than ever in Sir
Christopher. They used to paint illuminated texts, and make
picture-frames of paper rosettes, and buy toys, and leave them on his
doorstep in the dark, 'For the little girl,' and as the spring came
on, bunches of flowers.

It was one evening when Phyllis came to the castle with a big bunch of
plumy purple lilac. She was earlier than usual, and it was not quite
dark, and--wonder of wonders--the door of the castle was open. Still
more wonderful, Sir Christopher stood on the doorstep.

'I was watching for you,' he said. 'I had a sort of feeling you'd come
to-night. Will you come in?'

He led her into the black marble room and stood looking wistfully at
her.

'Would you like to see my little girl?' he said suddenly.

'Yes,' said Phyllis.

'I didn't think you'd understand,' he said, 'when you came at Christmas.
But you've been so kind and faithful all these months. I think you will
understand. Look!'

He pulled the sheet from the statue, and Phyllis looked on the white
likeness of a little girl of her own age, dressed in a long gown like a
nightgown.

'It is very beautiful,' she said.

'Yes,' he said. 'Have you ever heard any tales about me?' he asked.

'Yes,' said Phyllis, and told him.

'It's not true,' he said. My father had no debts. But I married someone
he didn't like; and then I got ill, and couldn't work. My father was
very hard. He wouldn't help us. My wife died, and then my father died,
and all his great wealth came to me. Too late! too late! The letter that
told me I was rich came to me when I was sitting beside my dead child.
The money came _then_--the money that would have saved her. The first
money I spent out of it all was spent on that statue. It was done as she
lay dead.'

Phyllis looked at the statue, and felt--she didn't know why--very
frightened. Then she looked at him, and she was not frightened any more.
She ran to him and put her arms round him.

'Oh, poor, poor, dear Sir Christopher!' she said.

'That's how she looked when she was dead,' he said; 'w