as very good at expressing her feelings in words, but as yet
she was a poor scribe, and her orthography left much to be desired.
Her letter was somewhat short, and ran as follows:--

"DADDY DEAR,--Here's a blot to begin, and the blot means a
kiss. I will put sum more at the end of the letter. Pleas
kiss all the kisses for they com from the verry botom of my
hart. I have tried Daddy to be good cos of you sinse I left
home, but I am afraid I have been rather norty. Mother gets
more purfect evry day. She is bewtiful and humbel. Mother
said she wasn't purfect but she is, isn't she father? I miss
you awful, speshul at nights, cos mother thinks its good for
me not to lie awake for her to come and kiss me. But you
never think that and you always com, and I thank God so much
for having gived you to me father. Your SIBYL."

"Father, what does 'scroopolus' mean? I want to know
speshul.--SIB."

The letter finished with many of these strange irregular blots, which
Ogilvie kissed tenderly, and then folded up the badly-spelt little
epistle, and slipped it into his pocket-book. Then he drew his chair
forward to where his big desk stood, and, leaning his elbows on it,
passed his hands through his thick, short hair. He was puzzled as he
had never been in all his life before. Should he go, or should he
stay? Should he yield to temptation, and become rich and prosperous,
or should he retain his honor, and face the consequences? He knew
well--he had seen them coming for a long time--the consequences he was
about to face would not be pleasant. They spelt very little short of
ruin. He suddenly opened a drawer, and took from its depths a sheaf of
accounts which different tradespeople had sent in to his wife. Mrs.
Ogilvie was hopelessly reckless and extravagant. Money in her hand was
like water; it flowed away as she touched it. Her jeweler's bill alone
amounted to thousands of pounds. If Ogilvie accepted the offer now
made to him he might satisfy these pressing creditors, and not deprive
Sibyl of her chance of an income by-and-by. Sibyl! As the thought of
her face came to him, he groaned inwardly. He wished sometimes that
God had never given him such a treasure.

"I am unworthy of my little Angel," he said to himself. Then he
started up and began to pace the room. "And yet I would not be without
her for all the wealth in the world, for all the greatness and all the
fame," h