“You don’t like it?” said Margaret: she was not uneasy, but she was sympathetic. “But then don’t do it, papa; come and take a little walk with me”--(here she paused, remembering that to-night, for instance, Sir Ludovic would have been much out of place), “or a turn in the garden, like John.” Sir Ludovic paid not much attention to what she said: he rubbed his eyes, and raised his head, shaking himself with a determination to overcome the drowsiness, which was a trouble to him. “You must sit with me more, my little girl, and make a noise; a little sound is life-like. This stillness gets like”--(he made a pause; was the first word that occurred to him an unpleasant one, not such as was agreeable to pronounce?)--“like sleep,” he added, after a moment, “and I have no wish to go to sleep.” “Sleeping is not pleasant in the daytime,” said Margaret, unintentionally matter-of-fact. The old man gave a slight shiver, which she did not understand. It was no longer the daytime with him, and this was precisely why he disliked his unconscious doze; was it not a sign that night was near? He raised himself in his chair, and with the almost mechanical force of habit began to turn over the leaves of the book before him. It was evident he had not heard her appeal. She stood by for a moment not saying anything, then pulled his sleeve gently. “Papa! it was something I had to say.” “Ay, to be sure. You wanted something, my little Peggy? what was it? There are not many things I can do, but if it is within my power--” “Papa! how strange to speak to me so--you can do everything I want,” said the girl. “And this is what it is: I want--don’t be very much astonished--to learn to draw.” “To draw? I am afraid I am no good in that respect, and cannot teach you, my dear.” “You? Oh no! But there is one that would learn me.” “My little Peggy, you are too Scotch--say teach.” “Very well, teach if you like, papa; what does the word matter? But may he come to the house, and may I have lessons? I think it is the only thing that is wanted to make me perfectly happy.” Sir Ludovic smiled. “In that case you had better begin at once. Mr. Ruskin himself ought to teach you, after such a sentiment. At once, my Peggy! for I would have you perfectly happy if I could. Poor child, who knows what may happen after,” he said, meditatively, putting his hand upon her arm and smoothing the sleeve caressingly. Margaret, occupied with her own thoughts, did not take in the meaning of this; but she was vaguely discouraged by the tone. “You are not like yourself, papa; what has happened?” she said, almost impatiently. “You are not--ill? It is waking up, I suppose.” “Just that--or going to sleep--one or the other. No, no, I am not ill; yet-- And let us be comfortable, my little girl. Draw? Yes, you shall learn to draw, and sit by me, quiet as a little mouse with bright eyes.” “You said just now I was to make a noise.”