"Now for dad’s letter." With a hasty glance at the clock, which told her she had only a few minutes to spare, Monica tore open the thin envelope, and with eager fingers unfolded the closely written sheet. For a few seconds no words were spoken, and then she lifted her face, which was full of excitement and bubbling over with joy. "Oh, grannie, he’s coming home!" she cried; "something quite unexpected has changed all his plans, and instead of the regiment staying out in Simla, it’s been ordered home, and when he gets to England, dad’s going to retire. Oh, isn’t it lovely! Just fancy, grannie, he won’t go away from home any more, and he says he will then be able to look after his troublesome child himself, and relieve you of all responsibility. Naughty dad!" she added, while a little thrill of pleasure ran through her at the remembrance of the long letter sent from Sandyshore, which would only just be arriving at Simla then. "I don’t think I’m quite so much trouble now, am I, grannie? And I am sure you would miss me just a little bit, wouldn’t you?" She looked up roguishly, and was amazed to see her grandmother’s eyes were looking suspiciously wet. "I cannot spare you, Monica, I could not give you up now," she said tremulously; "your father must make his home here, as long as I live." A sudden impulse prompted Monica to slip out of her place, and give her grandmother a caress, and a moment later they were locked in each other’s arms: the first embrace the girl had ever received from the undemonstrative old lady. But it was only the forerunner of many more; the possibility of losing her grandchild had shown Mrs. Beauchamp how intensely she loved her, and the proud reserve of her nature tottered and fell before the flood of love which came rushing in. "When does he speak of coming, Monica?" she asked, as she wiped her eyes, and felt if her dainty lace cap was on straight, while Monica returned to her letter. "He doesn’t quite know yet, grannie dear," she replied, glancing it quickly through, "but it might be in time for him to spend Christmas with us. Oh, isn’t it almost too splendid, to think of seeing my darling dad quite two years sooner than I had ever dreamt, and then, not just for a little while, but for always!" And Monica, gathering up all her packages, rushed upstairs to get ready for school in a perfect maze of delight. She was already behind time, so that she could only put all her letters and presents into a half-empty drawer, to be admired more fully upon her return. But she just managed to look out Leslie Herschel’s text, and some of the words, which she never remembered having seen before, fastened themselves upon her memory. "We ... do not cease to pray for you, and desire that ye might be filled with the knowledge of His will ... that ye might walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing."