“Grandmamma told me.”

“Do you remember what grandmamma said?”

“Yes—­she told me papa was drowned at sea.”

He said something to himself, and said it twice over.  “Not her mother!  Thank God, not her mother!” What did he mean?

Kitty looked and looked at him, and wondered and wondered.  He put his arm round her.  “Come near to me,” he said.  “Don’t be afraid of me, my dear.”  She moved nearer and showed him that she was not afraid.  The poor man seemed hardly to understand her.  His eyes grew dim; he sighed like a person in distress; he said:  “Your father would have kissed you, little one, if he had been alive.  You say I am like your father.  May I kiss you?”

She put her hands on his shoulder and lifted her face to him.  In the instant when he kissed her, the child knew him.  Her heart beat suddenly with an overpowering delight; she started back from his embrace.  “That’s how papa used to kiss me!” she cried.  “Oh! you are papa!  Not drowned! not drowned!” She flung her arms round his neck, and held him as if she would never let him go again.  “Dear papa!  Poor lost papa!” His tears fell on her face; he sobbed over her.  “My sweet darling! my own little Kitty!”

The hysterical passion that had overcome her father filled her with piteous surprise.  How strange, how dreadful that he should cry—­that he should be so sorry when she was so glad!  She took her little handkerchief out of the pocket of her pinafore, and dried his eyes.  “Are you thinking of the cruel sea, papa?  No! the good sea, the kind, bright, beautiful sea that has given you back to me, and to mamma—!”

They had forgotten her mother!—­and Kitty only discovered it now.  She caught at one of her father’s hands hanging helpless at his side, and pulled at it as if her little strength could force him to his feet.  “Come,” she cried, “and make mamma as happy as I am!”

He hesitated.  She sprang on his knee; she pressed her cheek against his cheek with the caressing tenderness, familiar to him in the first happy days when she was an infant.  “Oh, papa, are you going to be unkind to me for the first time in your life?”

His momentary resistance was at an end.  He was as weak in her hands now as if he had been the child and she had been the man.

Laughing and singing and dancing round him, Kitty led the way to the window of the room that opened on the garden.  Some one had closed it on the inner side.  She tapped impatiently at the glass.  Her mother heard the tapping; her mother came to the window; her mother ran out to meet them.  Since the miserable time when they left Mount Morven, since the long unnatural separation of the parents and the child, those three were together once more!

AFTER THE STORY

1.—­The Lawyer’s Apology.

That a woman of my wife’s mature years should be jealous of one of the most exemplary husbands that the records of matrimony can produce is, to say the least of it, a discouraging circumstance.  A man forgets that virtue is its own reward, and asks, What is the use of conjugal fidelity?