"Wearisome, perhaps; but still duties. And of late--that is, since you last saw him a year and a half ago--he has come to make of them a sort of pastime." "That is so like my father! He always looks above everything narrow and petty. He can find even in poor little Far Edgerley something of interest. How glad I am to be at home again, mamma, where I can be with him all the time! I have never met any one in the world who could approach my father." She spoke warmly; her gray eyes were full of loving pride. "He appreciates your affection. Never doubt it, in spite of what may seem to you an--an increase of reticence," said Madam Carroll. "Father was never talkative." "True. But he is more easily fatigued now than formerly--since his illness of last winter, you know. But it is growing late; I must close the house." "Do you do that yourself?" "Generally. I seldom keep Judith Inches up after half-past nine. And on ordinary occasions I am in bed myself soon after ten. Your home-coming is an extraordinary one." "And extraordinarily glad it makes me," said Sara. "I wonder, mamma, if you know how glad? I have fairly pined during this last year and a half at Longfields--yes, in spite of all Uncle John's kindness. Do you think me heartless?" "No," said Madam Carroll, as they went up the stairs together. "You loved your uncle, I know. You did your best to make him happy. But your father, Sara--your father, you have always adored." "And I continue to do it," answered the daughter, gayly. "I shall be down early, early in the morning to see him." "He does not come to breakfast at present. His strength has not yet fully returned. I have written you of this." "Not that he did not come to breakfast, mamma. That is so unlike him; he was always so cheerful and bright at the breakfast-table. But at least I can take his breakfast in to him?" "I think he would rather see you later--about ten, or half-past." A flush rose in Sara's face: no one would have called her colorless now. She looked hurt and angry. "Pray, who does take in his breakfast, then?" she asked. "I should think I might be as welcome as Judith Inches." "I take it," replied Madam Carroll, gently. "Very well, mamma; I will not begin by being jealous of you?" "You never have been, my daughter. And I--have appreciated it." Madam Carroll spoke in low tones: they were approaching the Major's door. She pointed towards it warningly. "We must not waken him," she said. She led her daughter in silence to the room she had fitted up for her with much taste and care. They kissed each other, and separated.