ly
answered, she repeated it still more eagerly.

Her father replied--"I do not know."

"How very strange! I thought he would come at once--to-night,
probably."

I reminded her that Lord Ravenel had left for Paris, bidding goodbye to
Mr. Jessop.

"He ought to have come to us instead of to Mr. Jessop. Write and tell
him so, father. Tell him how glad we shall be to see him. And perhaps
you can help him: you who help everybody. He always said you were his
best friend."

"Did he?"

"Ah now, do write, father dear--I am sure you will."

John looked down on the little maid who hung on his arm so
persuasively, then looked sorrowfully away.

"My child--I cannot."

"What, not write to him? When he is poor and in trouble? That is not
like you, father," and Maud half-loosed her arm.

Her father quietly put the little rebellious hand back again to its
place. He was evidently debating within himself whether he should tell
her the whole truth, or how much of it. Not that the debate was new,
for he must already have foreseen this possible, nay, certain,
conjuncture. Especially as all his dealings with his family had
hitherto been open as daylight. He held that to prevaricate, or
wilfully to give the impression of a falsehood, is almost as mean as a
direct lie. When anything occurred that he could not tell his
children, he always said plainly, "I cannot tell you," and they asked
no more.

I wondered exceedingly how he would deal with Maud.

She walked with him, submissive yet not satisfied, glancing at him from
time to time, waiting for him to speak. At last she could wait no
longer.

"I am sure there is something wrong. You do not care for Lord Ravenel
as much as you used to do."

"More, if possible."

"Then write to him. Say, we want to see him--I want to see him. Ask
him to come and stay a long while at Beechwood."

"I cannot, Maud. It would be impossible for him to come. I do not
think he is likely to visit Beechwood for some time."

"How long? Six months? A year, perhaps?"

"It may be several years."

"Then, I was right. Something HAS happened; you are not friends with
him any longer. And he is poor--in trouble--oh, father!"

She snatched her hand away, and flashed upon him reproachful eyes. John
took her gently by the arm, and made her sit down upon the wall of a
little stone bridge, under which the moat slipped with a quiet murmur.
Maud's tears dropped into it fast and free.