"Are you angry, uncle? What does 'presence' mean? Will you say, 'Good-night; God bless you,' to me?" With the baby fingers clinging to his, what could Sir Edward say? "Good-night; good-night, child! Now go." "Say, 'God bless you!'" persisted the little one, and it was not till her uncle muttered the desired words that she relinquished her hold and followed the butler sedately out of the room. CHAPTER II. DAVID AND GOLIATH. Sir Edward Wentworth was, as he expressed it, a "confirmed bachelor," and though during the autumn months he was quite willing to fill his house with his London friends, he was better pleased to live the greater part of the year in seclusion, occupying himself with looking after his estate and writing articles for several of the leading reviews of the day. The advent of his small niece was indeed a great trial to him, but, with his characteristic thoroughness, he determined that he would make the necessary arrangements for her comfort. Accordingly he had a long interview with her nurse the following morning. It proved to be satisfactory. The nurse was a staid, elderly woman, who assured him she was accustomed to the sole charge of the child, and would keep her entirely under her own control. "I expect you would like her to be sent down to you in the evening--at dessert, perhaps, sir?" she inquired. Sir Edward pulled the ends of his moustache dubiously. "Is it necessary? I thought children ought to be in bed at that time." "Of course it shall be as you like, sir. You do not dine so late as some do. I thought you would expect to see her once in the day." After a little hesitation Sir Edward gave his permission; and when he found that Milly neither screamed nor snatched for the fruit on the table, and did not herself engross the whole conversation, he became quite reconciled to the little white figure stealing in and occupying the chair that was always placed at his left-hand side for her. Beyond this he saw very little of her while his guests were with him; but afterwards, when they had all left him, and he relapsed into his ordinary life, he was constantly coming across her. Sometimes he would find her in the stables, her arms round the stable cat, and the grooms holding a voluble conversation with her, or among the cows at the bottom of the paddock, or feeding the pigs and fowls in the poultry yard. Generally she was attended by Fritz, a beautiful collie, who had, with the fickleness of his nature, transferred his affection from his master to her, and though uncertain in temper towards most, was never anything but amiable when with the little girl. Her uncle's form approaching was quite a sufficient hint to her to make herself scarce. She would generally anticipate the usual formula: "Now run away child, to nurse," by singing out cheerfully: "I am just off, uncle," and by the time he had reached the spot where she was standing the little figure would be running off in the distance, Fritz close at her heels.