a smile, as he gave her a troubled
look; "I am not at all sick; it is only weariness." And she held up her
face for a kiss, which he gave heartily and with a look of tenderest
fatherly affection.

The two little ones claimed their turn; then Violet and the three went
upstairs, leaving the captain and Lucilla alone together.

"Didn't you say you had some letters to write when you came home,
papa?" she asked; "and can't I help you?"

"I say yes to both questions," he answered pleasantly. "Take off your
hat and come with me into the library. But perhaps you are too tired,"
he added hastily, as if just struck by the thought. "If so, daughter, I
would not have you exert yourself to do the work now. It can wait till
to-morrow morning. Or, if I find anything needing an immediate reply, I
can attend to it myself, without my little girl's assistance."

"But I am not tired, papa, and I dearly love to help you in any and
every way that I can," she answered, smiling up into his eyes.

"I do not doubt it in the least, my child," he said, laying his hand on
her head in tender, fatherly fashion; "and you are a very great help and
comfort to me; so much so that I shall be extremely loath ever to let
anybody rob me of my dear eldest daughter."

"I hardly think anybody wants to yet, papa," she laughed; "nobody seems
to set anything like the value upon me that you do. So you needn't be in
the least afraid of ever being robbed of this one of your treasures.
Ah, papa, it is so nice--such a happiness to have you esteem me a
treasure, and to know that I belong to you."

"A happiness to me as well as to you, dear child," he said. "Well, we
will look at the letters and decide whether it is necessary to answer
any of them to-night."

They had entered the library and drawn near the table while they talked.
A pile of letters lay upon it. He took them up and glanced at the
superscription upon each.

"Ah! here is one directed to you, daughter," he said, "and from someone
in this neighborhood; for it is without a stamp."

"Probably from Maud or Sydney," she remarked.

"No," said her father, "the handwriting is evidently that of a man.
Well, you may open it and see who the writer is," handing it to her as
he spoke.

"If you would rather I did not, papa, I do not want to," she said, not
offering to take it. "Please read it first."

"I can trust you, daughter, and you have my full permission to read
it," he said in a kindly indulgent ton