It looked so comfortable to see her there--so comfortable and homelike, sitting beside our fire, and keeping my father company. If I had known that I should find her when I came in from the stormy darkness, she, whom once I used to fancy would be always there with us! My father looked round as I came in, but Hildred's face was turned away from me, and she did not see me. She gave a great start and stood up hurriedly when I touched her shoulder. 'Did I frighten you?' I said; 'you ought to have gone home, Hildred, before it came on to rain like this.' 'Does it rain?' she asked, without looking up. The wind answered her, as it dashed the rain in a noisy gust against the window. 'You will get wet,' I said, watching her putting on her cloak and hood. 'I don't mind. I only waited because your father was alone, and I didn't like to leave him. I must go home now.' 'Thank you, my dear,' my father said. 'I wish you had not got to go home, but that you could stay here with us always.' It was my father's way to say things like that to Hildred. They were hard to bear--hard to be reminded of what might have been--hard to listen to, and to say nothing. I must let her go out now into the rainy darkness. I could never keep her--never--safe sheltered in the warmest corner of our fireside. As my father spoke, Hildred bent down, still hurriedly, to bid him good night. He kept her hand, and said, 'Hildred, lass, will you come home here, and stay for always? Will you be my daughter?' I took a step forward and laid my hand on Hildred's arm to draw her back. What was my father saying? He looked up at me and did not let go her hand. 'No one has been so faithful to you as he has. Won't you let him bring you home at last?' Hildred could scarcely have heard the last words. The door closed behind her almost before they were spoken. I did not try to follow her, though she had gone out alone into the storm. I saw her put her hands over her face as she went out, to hide her tears. 'Father, what have you done?' He had taken up his pipe and was lighting it slowly. It seemed strange that he should look at me so quietly in my great doubt and pain. 'No harm, lad, no harm. I should be glad to see you comfortable with her before I die.' 'Comfortable! With Hildred!' 'Ay, with my little Hildred. She's a good girl, and she'd make a good wife. Besides, I've always said as how it's lonesome without a woman about the house.' I tried to speak quietly. 'Were you talking about me when I came home?' The pipe was alight now. He never could be got to talk when he was smoking. He just answered 'Yes,' and no more. 'You didn't tell her all I once told you?' 'Why not? I've a mind to bring you and her together.' 'Father,' I said, 'you have forgotten Cuthbert and my promise.' He made no reply for a few minutes, and then, as, he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, he said, 'Cuthbert's dead.'