'He will love you very dearly, as he ought to do, some day, my pet; and if you don't love him just now, you also will in time. Your poor mother would have liked it--Roland was ever her favourite.' 'Please not to say these things, papa,' implored Hester, though they were alone, and she caressed his old white head, for Sir Harry seldom or never spoke of her mother, whose death occurred some twelve years before, without an emotion which he could not conceal, for he was gentle and loving by nature. 'Bother the fellow!' said Sir Harry testily, ashamed that his voice had broken and his eyes grown full; 'he should know his own heart by this time.' 'I would rather, papa, you did not say such things.' 'Well--I can't help thinking of them, and you have no one to confide in, Pet Hester, but me,' he added, drawing her head down on his breast. 'If it will make you any happier, dear papa,' said Hester in a very low voice, 'I will promise to do as you wish, if Roland asks me to love him, which he has not done yet. Anyway, it does not matter,' she added, a little irrelevantly; 'I care for no one else.' 'Not even for Malcolm of Dunnimarle?' he asked laughingly. 'No, papa--not even for Malcolm Skene.' 'He admires you immensely, Hester, but then Roland seems to me just the sort of fellow to advise and protect--to be good to a girl--strong and brave, kind and tender.' 'Oh, hush, papa,' said Hester, ready to sink with confusion and annoyance; 'here he comes,' she added, as Roland came lounging through an open French window into the dining-room. 'What about Skene of Dunnimarle, uncle--surely I heard his name?' he asked, adding to Hester's emotion of confusion, though he failed to notice it. 'May I finish my cigar here, Hester?' 'Oh, please do--I rather like it,' she replied hastily. 'I have asked Skene for the shooting next month at Earlshaugh--to knock over a few birds.' 'That will be pleasant for Hester; he is rather an admirer of hers,' said Sir Harry. 'I don't know that he is,' said Hester; 'and if you talk that way, I shall not go to Earlshaugh this summer at all, papa.' 'After your promise to me that you will do so?' asked Roland. 'Yes, even after my promise to you,' she replied, as she left the room. 'I'll tell you a strange story of Malcolm's father when we were together in Central India,' said Sir Harry, to change the subject. 'It happened at Jhansi--you never heard it, I suppose?' 'Not that I know of,' replied Roland, who was already weary of the Indian reminiscences that Sir Harry contrived to drag into conversation whenever he could.