f paused for an instant, thinking that he
should certainly hear her quick footsteps, the opening of a door, some
sign of welcome, but all was as silent as death. Half angry with himself
for having grown so expectant of that loving watch as to be seriously
apprehensive at its absence, he hastily put down his bag and walked
into the sitting room, his calm exterior belying a nameless fear at his
heart.

What the French call expressively a "serrement de coeur" seized him
when he saw that Erica was indeed at home, but that she was lying on the
couch. She did not even spring up to greet him.

"Is anything the matter, dear? Are you ill?" he asked, hurriedly
crossing the little room.

"Oh, have you not seen Aunt Jean? She was going to meet you at St.
Pancras," said Erica, her heart failing her a little at the prospect of
telling her own bad news. But the exceeding anxiety of her father's
face helped her to rise to the occasion. She laughed, and the laugh was
natural enough to reassure him.

"It is nothing so very dreadful, and all this time you have never even
given me a kiss, father." She drew down the grand-looking white head,
and pressed her fair face to his. He sat down beside her.

"Tell me, dear, what is wrong with you?" he repeated.

"Well, I felt rather out of order, and they said I ought to see some
one, and it seems that my tiresome spine is getting crooked, and the
long and the short of it is that Mr. Doctor Osmond says I shall get
quite well again if I'm careful; but" she added, lightly, yet with the
gentleness of one who thinks merely of the hearer's point of view "I
shall have to be a passive verb for a year, and you will have to be my
very strong man Kwasind.'"

"A year?" he exclaimed in dismay.

"Brian half gave me hope that it might not be so long," said Erica, "if
I'm very good and careful, and of course I shall be both. I am only
sorry because it will make me very useless. I did hope I should never
have been a burden on you again, father."

"Don't talk of such a thing, my little son Eric," he said, very
tenderly. "Who should take care of you if not your own father? Besides,
if you never wrote another line for me, you would help me by just being
yourself. A burden!"

"Well, I've made you look as grave as half a dozen lawsuits," said
Erica, pretending to stroke the lines of care from his forehead. "I've
had the morning to ruminate over the prospect, and really now that you
know, it is not so very d