Just then Sibyl, Gus and Freda appeared in view. Sibyl was extremely dirty. She had been climbing trees to good effect that morning, and there was a rent in front of her dress and even a very apparent hole in one of her stockings. She and Gus were arguing somewhat fiercely, and the cap she wore was pushed back, and her golden hair was all in a tangle. Suddenly she raised her eyes, caught sight of her father, and, with a shout something between a whoop and a cry, flung herself into his arms. "Daddy, daddy!" she cried. He clasped her tightly to his breast. He did not notice the shabby dress nor the torn stocking; he only saw the eager little face, the eyes brimful with love; he only felt the beating of the warm, warm heart. "Why, dad, now I shall be happy. Where are you, Gus? Gus, this is father; Gus, come here!" But at a nod from Lord Grayleigh both Gus and Freda had vanished round the corner. "I will say good-by, if you must go, Ogilvie," said Grayleigh. He took his hand, gave it a sympathetic squeeze, and went into the house. "But must you go, father? Why, you have only just come," said Sibyl. "I must, my darling, I must catch the next train; there is not ten minutes. Jump on the dog-cart, and we will drive to the station together." "Oh, 'licious!" cried Sibyl, "more than 'licious; but what will mother say?" "Never mind, the coachman will bring you back. Jump up, quick." In another instant Sibyl was seated between her father and the coachman. The spirited mare dashed forward, and they bowled down the avenue. Ogilvie's arm was tight round Sibyl's waist, he was hugging her to him, squeezing her almost painfully tight. She gasped a little, drew in her breath, and then resolved to bear it. "There's something troubling him, he likes having me near him," thought the child. "I wouldn't let him see that he's squeezing me up a bit too tight for all the world." The mare seemed to fly over the ground. Ogilvie was glad. "We shall have a minute or two at the station. I can speak to her then," he thought. "I won't tell her that I am going, but I can say something." Then the station appeared in view, and the mare was pulled up with a jerk; Ogilvie jumped to his feet, and lifted Sibyl to the ground. "Wait for the child," he said to the servant, "and take her back carefully to the house." "Yes, sir," answered the man, touching his hat. Ogilvie went into the little station, and Sibyl accompanied him. "I have my ticket," he said, "we have three minutes to spare, three whole precious minutes." "Three whole precious minutes," repeated Sibyl. "What is it, father?" "I am thinking of something," he said. "What?" asked the girl. "For these three minutes, one hundred and eighty seconds, you and I are to all intents and purposes alone in the world." "Father! why, so we are," she cried. "Mother's not here, we are all alone. Nothing matters, does it, when we are alone together?" "Nothing." "You don't look quite well, dear father."