“My little Peggy!” said her father, “why is this? Have I not told you I am very comfortable? And by-and-by I shall be more than comfortable--happy; so everybody says; and so I believe, too, though it troubles me not to know a little better. And you will be--like all of us who have lost our parents. It is a loss that must come, my little girl.” “Oh no, no, papa!” her voice was muffled and hoarse with crying. She could not consent to her own desolation. “Ah yes, my little girl, it must come; and so we go on to have children of our own, and then to leave them _à la grace de Dieu_. My Peggy, listen! If you were old like Jean and Grace, you would not care; and then think this wonder to yourself: I am glad that my little girl is so young and breaks her heart. Glad! think of that, my little Peggy. It is good to see that your little heart is broken. It will mend, but it warms my old one.” “Oh, papa!” she cried, kissing his pale hand, “oh, papa!” but could not lift her head or look him in the face. “So now, my little girl,” he said, “we will not make believe, you and I, but acknowledge that we are going to part for a long, long time, my Peggy. I hope for a very long time; but probably,” he said, with a smile, “if all is true that we fancy and believe, it will not be so long for me as for you. I shall have the best of it. You would like your old father to have the best of it, my little girl?” At this she lifted her face and gave him a look which said Yes, yes, a hundred times! but could not speak. “I knew you would,” he said. “I, you see, will find myself among old friends; and we will have our talks about what’s come and gone since we parted, and there will be a great many people to make acquaintance with that I have known only--in the spirit, as the Bible says;--and there will be the One, you know, that you say your prayers to, my Peggy. When you say your prayers, you can fancy (the best of life is fancy,” said Sir Ludovic, with a faint smile,) “that I’m there somewhere, about what the Bible calls His footstool, and that He, perhaps, being so tender-hearted, may call to me and say, ‘Ludovic! here is your little girl.’” “Oh, papa! will you say something more, something more?” “I would if I could, my Peggy; but I am tired again. I’ll have a little doze now; but sit still and stay by me, my own little girl.”