Elinor arose, laid aside the work with which she had been employed, passed over to Fawkes, then stooped and kissed him. As her lips touched his, he reached up, took her face between his hands and gazing at her said, after a moment: "My pretty one, if at any time death should take thy father from thee, wouldst ever cease to love him?" The girl started; for the words had broken strangely in upon her thoughts. Evidently the man beheld the shocked look, for he continued, putting his arm about her slight form and pressing it close to him, "Nay, my daughter, thou needst not be alarmed at what I say, for--for 'twas nothing. Thou knowest in years I do grow apace, and 'twould be small wonder if death did perchance tap me on the shoulder and say, 'Thou art the man!' There, there, little one," he added kissing her, "thou needst not reply; I can read an answer in thy eyes." "And, prithee, didst ever doubt my love for thee?" whispered the girl, as she gently placed her arms about his neck. "Nay, never!" answered Fawkes, quickly, in a husky voice, "but--but 'tis sweet to hear thee tell thy love, and," he added, taking one of her white hands within his own, "thou art all I have. If at any time death should steal thee from thy father's arms, methinks he would soon follow in thy light footsteps." "Much happiness it doth give me to hear from thee such words," the girl replied, "even though they have but solemn import." "And dost thy father's affection need repetition? Surely, thou knowest 'tis all thine own." For an instant there was silence, broken only by the crackling logs. Then the girl said, as though dwelling upon his words: "Nay, I never doubted thee--but--but----" "But what, my daughter?" Fawkes asked, tenderly, pressing her fingers to his lips. "Well, perchance," she answered with a smile, "I did but wish, like thee, to hear again the confession of it." His only response was the pressing of her figure closer to his heart. "Tell me," she began after a moment, in a hesitating voice, casting a half-timid glance at her father's face; "dost think one ever speaks words from anger that--well, that in calmer moments he would give a world to unsay?" "What brought such question to thy mind, daughter?" enquired the other with a smile of surprise. "Perchance 'tis but a causeless query," she replied, smoothing his tumbled locks. "Many foolish things are spoke in passion," said Fawkes; "things which leave a lifetime of regret behind. I do remember that once, in this very room, my temper did o'erleap its bounds and lent my tongue words which I would give a year of sweet life to unsay. Dost know my meaning, darling?" he inquired, looking at her with moisture in his eyes. "'Twas when I had not long arrived from Spain; in truth, 'twas on the very night when thou----" "Nay, I will not hear thee repeat," she interrupted, laying her hand upon his mouth. "I know all, but thou canst not think how happy this doth make me."