soft
Indian fabric, and clung to her fine figure in graceful folds. She had
made Ward iron it out, and had put it on. Of late she had considered it
too girlish, but to-night she appeared in it knowing it would please the
eyes for which it was worn.

Mr. Harman was chilly and sat by the fire. As usual the room was softly
but abundantly lit by candles. Charlotte loved light, and, as a rule,
hated to talk to any one without looking at that person fully. But
to-night an opposite motive caused her to put out one by one all the
candles.

"Does not the room look cosy with only the firelight?" she said. And
then she sat down on a low stool at her father's feet.

"You are better now, my love. Tell me you are better," he said, taking
her hand in his.

"I am well enough to sit and talk to you, father," she said.

"But what ailed you, Lottie? You could not come to dinner either
yesterday or to-day; and I remember you looked ill this morning. What is
wrong?"

"I felt troubled, and that has brought on a headache. But don't let us
talk about me. I mean, I suppose we must after a little, but not at
first."

"Whom shall we talk about first? Who is more important? Is it Hinton?
You cannot get _me_ to think that Charlotte."

"You are more important. I want to talk about you."

Now she got hold of his hand, and, turning round, gazed firmly into his
face.

"Father, you have troubled me. You have caused my headache."

Instantly a startled look came into his eyes; and she, reading him
now--as, alas! she knew how to do but too well--hastened to soothe it.

"You wanted to send me away, to make me less your own, if that were
possible. Father, I have come here to-night to tell you that I am not
going away--that I am all your own, even to the end."

"My own to the end? Yes, you must always be that. But what do you mean?"

She felt the hand she held trembling, and hastened to add,--

"Why did you keep the truth from me? Why did you try to deceive me, your
nearest and dearest, as to your state of health? But I know it all now.
I am not going away from you."

"You mean--you mean, Charlotte, you will not marry Hinton next week?"

"No, father."

"Have you told him?"

"Yes."

"Charlotte, do you know the worst about me?"

"I know all about you. I went to see Sir George Anderson this morning. I
forced from him the opinion he has already given to you. He says that I
cannot keep you long. But while I can, we will never part."