Mrs. Ogilvie had hardly finished her words before an angry bang at the drawing-room door told her that her husband had left her. Ogilvie went to his smoking-room at the other end of the hall. There he paced restlessly up and down. His temples were beating, and the pain at his heart was growing worse. The postman's ring was heard, and the footman, Watson, entered with a letter. Ogilvie had expected this letter, and he knew what its purport would be. He only glanced at the writing, threw it on the table near, and resumed his walk up and down. "It is the child," he thought. "She perplexes me and she tempts me. Never was there a sweeter decoy duck to the verge of ruin. Poor little innocent white Angel! Her attitude toward her mother and me is sometimes almost maddening. Mildred wants to take that little innocent life and mould it after her own fashion. But, after all, am I any better than Mildred? If I yield to this"--he touched the letter with his hand--"I shall sweep in gold, and all money anxieties will be laid to rest. Little Sib will be rich by-and-by. This is a big thing, and if I do it I shall see my way to clearing off those debts which Mildred's extravagance, and doubtless my own inclination, have caused me to accumulate. Whatever happens Sibyl will be all right; and yet--I don't care for wealth, but Mildred does, and the child will be better for money. Money presents a shield between a sensitive heart like Sibyl's and the world. Yes, I am tempted. Sibyl tempts me." He thrust the letter into a drawer, locked the drawer, put the key in his pocket, and ran up to Sibyl's nursery. She was asleep, and there was no one else in the room. The blinds were down at the windows, and the nursery, pretty, dainty, sweet, and fresh, was in shadow. Ogilvie stepped softly across the room, and drew up the blind. The moonlight now came in, and shed a silver bar of light across the child's bed. Sibyl lay with her golden hair half covering the pillow, her hands and arms flung outside the bedclothes. "Good-night, little darling," said her father. He bent over her, and pressed a light kiss upon her cheek. Feather touch as it was, it aroused the child. She opened her big blue eyes. "Oh, father, is that you?" she cried in a voice of rapture. "Yes, it is I. I came to wish you good-night." "You are good, you never forget," said Sibyl. She clasped her arms round his neck. "I went to bed without saying my prayers. May I say them now to you?" "Not for worlds," it was the man's first impulse to remark, but he checked himself. "Of course, dear," he said. Sibyl raised herself to a kneeling posture. She clasped her soft arms round her father's neck. "Pray God forgive me for being naughty to-day," she began, "and pray God make me better to-morrow, 'cos it will please my darlingest father and mother; and I thank you, God, so much for making them good, very good, and without sin. Pray God forgive Sibyl, and try to make her better.