linor arose, laid aside the work with which she had been employed,
passed over to Fawkes, then stooped and kissed him. As her lips
touched his, he reached up, took her face between his hands and gazing
at her said, after a moment: "My pretty one, if at any time death
should take thy father from thee, wouldst ever cease to love him?"

The girl started; for the words had broken strangely in upon her
thoughts. Evidently the man beheld the shocked look, for he continued,
putting his arm about her slight form and pressing it close to him,
"Nay, my daughter, thou needst not be alarmed at what I say, for--for
'twas nothing. Thou knowest in years I do grow apace, and 'twould be
small wonder if death did perchance tap me on the shoulder and say,
'Thou art the man!' There, there, little one," he added kissing her,
"thou needst not reply; I can read an answer in thy eyes."

"And, prithee, didst ever doubt my love for thee?" whispered the girl,
as she gently placed her arms about his neck.

"Nay, never!" answered Fawkes, quickly, in a husky voice, "but--but
'tis sweet to hear thee tell thy love, and," he added, taking one of
her white hands within his own, "thou art all I have. If at any time
death should steal thee from thy father's arms, methinks he would soon
follow in thy light footsteps."

"Much happiness it doth give me to hear from thee such words," the
girl replied, "even though they have but solemn import."

"And dost thy father's affection need repetition? Surely, thou knowest
'tis all thine own." For an instant there was silence, broken only by
the crackling logs. Then the girl said, as though dwelling upon his
words: "Nay, I never doubted thee--but--but----"

"But what, my daughter?" Fawkes asked, tenderly, pressing her fingers
to his lips.

"Well, perchance," she answered with a smile, "I did but wish, like
thee, to hear again the confession of it."

His only response was the pressing of her figure closer to his heart.

"Tell me," she began after a moment, in a hesitating voice, casting a
half-timid glance at her father's face; "dost think one ever speaks
words from anger that--well, that in calmer moments he would give a
world to unsay?"

"What brought such question to thy mind, daughter?" enquired the other
with a smile of surprise.

"Perchance 'tis but a causeless query," she replied, smoothing his
tumbled locks.

"Many foolish things are spoke in passion," said Fawkes; "things which
leave a lifetime