“It is of your happiness I am thinking,” he said, in a low, nervous voice. “But I think you have done right. Heaven send you every joy, my child. You have been, and will still be, all the world to me--all the world----” He broke off abruptly, as if unable to continue, and, gently releasing her, walked aside for a moment. Then he came back to her. “You will live at The Maples, Olivia? I could not lose you--I could not! There must be an understanding--a bargain.” A faint shudder ran through her at the sound of the hateful word. “There shall be a bargain, dear,” she said, smiling. “Mr. Brad--Bartley has just told me that we should live where I please, and the nearer I am to you--ah, if we could only live here!” “Why should you not?” he responded, eagerly; then he checked himself with a laugh. “No, that would be asking too much, even of Bartley, generous as he is. But The Maples is not very far, is it? Not very far. I shall see you every day. You will still be the sunlight of my life, the comfort of my old age. See how selfish I am!” She flung her arms around him with a sudden _abandon_, and he felt her quiver and tremble as she sobbed. “Yes, I shall still be your child, papa. You will never let me go far from you. Promise--promise!” “Hush, hush, Olivia!” he said, soothingly, his own voice trembling. “This is my fault. Come, come; this is not very complimentary to Bartley. Why, dear, you must remember that you don’t lose your father because you gain a husband! Bartley and I are quite close friends, and we shall be closer now. Run up to your room, my dear, or he will see you have been crying, and feel hurt. He loves you, thank God! No man could love you more devotedly.” CHAPTER XV. A WOMAN’S WAY. Faradeane rode home slowly through the wood. It was well for him that his horse was sure-footed, and picked its way safely through the undergrowth, for its master rode like a man who has suddenly lost his sense of sight and hearing. Unguided, the animal bore him to the gate, and then Faradeane, with an effort, raised his head and threw off the kind of lethargy which had held him. He threw the bridle to his man and entered the cottage. As he did so, Bertie sprang out of a chair to meet him, with an eager, anxious expression; then he stopped short and uttered an exclamation of dismay. “Great Heavens! are you ill?” Faradeane closed the door carefully, and dropped his hat on the table. “No--that is, yes; it’s of no consequence.” He went to the sideboard and drank some wine. “I--I beg your pardon; help yourself. You’ll want it,” he added, not unfeelingly, but with a sad, decisive air. “Then--then you’ve seen her?” faltered Bertie. “I thought you would go to her this morning. You have seen her----” “Yes, I have seen her,” assented Faradeane, dryly. “And--but there is no need to ask you the result,” breathed Bertie, like a man resolved not to show the agony that is devouring him.