Neither had he come the next morning. After breakfast, Blanche went to the end of the garden and stood looking out across the field. The shady dingle, where as a little child she had sat to pick violets and primroses, was there; but she was gazing at something else--the path that would bring her father. Arnold Ravensworth came strolling up behind her. "You know the old saying, Blanche: a watched-for visitor never comes." "Oh dear, why do you depress me, Arnold? To watch is something. I shall cross the field and look up the road." They started off in the sunshine. Blanche had a pretty straw hat on. She took the arm Mr. Ravensworth held out to her. Very soon, a stranger turned into the field and came swinging towards them. "Blanche, is this the Major?" It was a tall, large-limbed, angular man in an old blue cloak lined with scarlet. He had iron-gray hair and whiskers, gray, hard eyes, a large twisted nose, and very white teeth. Blanche laughed merrily. "That papa! What an idea you must have of him, Arnold! Papa was a handsome man with black hair, and had lost two of his front teeth. They were knocked out, fighting with the Caffres." The stranger came on, staring intently at the good-looking young man and the beautiful girl on his arm. Mr. Ravensworth spoke in a low tone. "Are you quite sure, Blanche? Black hair turns gray, remember; and he has a little travelling portmanteau under that cloak." Even as he spoke, something in the stranger's face struck upon Blanche Heriot's memory. She disengaged herself and approached him, too agitated to weigh her words. "Oh--I beg your pardon--are you not papa?" Major Carlen looked at her closely. "Are you Blanche?" "Yes, I am Blanche. Oh, papa!" The Major tucked his step-daughter under his own arm; and Mr. Ravensworth went on to give notice of the arrival. "Papa, I never saw anyone so much altered!" "Nor I," interposed the Major. "I was wondering what deuced handsome girl was strolling towards me. You are beautiful, Blanche; more so than your mother was, and she was handsome." Blanche, confused though she felt at the compliment, could not return it. "Who is that young fellow?" resumed the Major. "Arnold Ravensworth; Mr. Ravensworth's nephew. He lives in London, and came down yesterday for a short visit." "Oh. Does he come often?" "Pretty often. We wish it was oftener. We like him to be here." "He seems presuming." "Dear papa! Presuming! He is not at all so. And he is very talented and clever. He took honours at Oxford, and--" "I see," interrupted Major Carlen, displaying his large and regular teeth--a habit of his when not pleased. He had rapidly taken up an idea, and it angered him. "Is this the parson, Blanche? He looks very sanctimonious." "Oh, papa!" she returned, feeling ready to cry at his contemptuous tone. "He is the best man that ever lived. Everyone loves and respects him."