The child was trembling violently; her little face was white as death, her appealing eyes would have softened most hearts. "Oh, Nell, what shall I do if I make father worse again? For I can't tell what I know; it would be a lie to tell it, and you said yourself, Nell, that no Maybright told lies." Mrs. Cameron smiled grimly. "I have said it," she remarked; "it all rests with yourself, Firefly. I shall be ready either to hear your confession or to take you to your father at three o'clock to-day." With these words the good lady walked out of the room. CHAPTER XVII. TO THE RESCUE. An hour later a wildly anxious and disconsolate little figure might have been seen knocking at Polly's door. No answer from within. A moment of suspense on the part of the little figure, followed by another and louder knock; then the small, nervous fingers turned the handle of the door, and Firefly pushed her head in and peered anxiously round. Oh, dear! oh, dear! No Polly was in the room. And why did the great eight-day clock in the hall strike twelve? Why, on this morning of all mornings, should time go on wings? Firefly had great faith in Polly's powers of helping her. But the moments were too precious to waste them in trying to find her. She had another search to make, and she must set out at once. No, not quite at once. She clasped her hands to her beating little heart as an idea came to her on which she might act. A delicious and yet most sorrowful idea, which would fill her with the keenest pain, and yet give her the very sweetest consolation. She would go and get a kiss from her father before she set out on the search, which might be a failure. Very swiftly she turned, flew down the long gallery which led to Dr. Maybright's room, and went in. Dr. Strong had paid his visit and gone away. Firefly's heart gave a bound of delight, for her father was alone. He was lying supported high in bed with pillows. His almost sightless eyes were not bandaged, they were simply closed; his hands, with their long, sensitive, purposeful fingers lay on the white sheets in a restful attitude. Already the acute hearing of the blind had come to him, and as Firefly glided up to the bedside, he turned his head quickly. Her two small hands went with a kind of bound into one of his. His fingers closed over them. "This is my Fly," said the Doctor; "a very excited and feverish Fly, too. How these small fingers flutter! What is it, my darling?" "A kiss, father," said Fly, "a great _hug_ of a kiss! please, please. I want it so awfully badly." "Climb up on the bed, and put your arms round me. Is that all right? My dear little one, you are not well." "I'm quite well, now, while I'm loving you. Oh! aren't you just the darlingest of all darling fathers? There, another kiss; and another! Now I'm better." She glided off the bed, pressed two long, last fervent embraces on the Doctor's white hand, and rushed out of the room.