"Father," she said, in the same dull voice, "I want you to make me a promise. If there is no hope, if Sir Hindley says so, promise me that I shall see her--before--before--you know what I mean." "Oh, Waveney, my little Waveney, for God's sake do not ask me that!" and Everard shook with emotion. "But I do ask it." And then her arms went round his neck in a sudden passion of pleading. "Father, I will be good--I will not go near or kiss her; but her dear eyes must see me--she must know that I am there. Father, if you love me, you will not refuse." And then, with a choking sob, poor Everard gave reluctant consent. Very little more passed between them, when Everard said he must go; Waveney made no attempt to keep him. For the first time in her life her father's presence failed to comfort her, and instinctively he realised this. "Take care of yourself for my sake," he said, as he kissed and blessed her; but she made no answer when he left her. She paced up and down the room restlessly. Movement--that was her sole relief; and bodily fatigue--that would make her sleep. Once she pressed her face against the window and looked out at the darkness. "Mollie is dying," she said to herself, "and perhaps the dear Lord will let me die, too;" and then she smiled at the thought, and resumed her pacing to and fro in the firelight. As Everard stumbled out of the room, Althea opened the door of the library and beckoned to him. She had no need to ask him any question; one glance at his face was enough. "Mr. Ward," she said, in her soft voice, "I cannot let you go like this. Sit down by the fire, and I will give you a nice hot cup of coffee. You always liked coffee better than tea, I remember." "You are very good," he returned, in a hesitating voice. "But I am anxious to get back to my poor child. Dr. Duncan will be coming at six, and Ingram will be round for news." "Oh, I would not keep you for worlds," replied Althea, gently. "But you must drink this first; and there is no need to drink it standing." And then, with a half-smile, Everard yielded. The beautiful room, the soft lamplight, the quiet face and kindly ministering hands of his old friend, gave him a sudden feeling of warmth and repose. He felt like a tired child brought out of the cold and darkness. As he drank his coffee, the numb, strained feeling gave way. "Miss Harford," he said, suddenly, "it makes me miserable to see Waveney."