A little shyly, Erica made her way to the work room where Elspeth was tacking frilling into one of Rose's dresses. The old woman started up with a quick exclamation when she appeared in the doorway. “May I come in?” said Erica, with all the charm of manner which she had inherited from her father. “'Tis very late, but I didn't like to go to bed without seeing you.” “I hope missie has everything she wants?” asked Elspeth, anxiously. “Yes, indeed!” said Erica. “All I want is to see you, and to give you my father's love, to ask how you are. He and Aunt Jean have often told me about you. You have not forgotten them?” “Forgotten! No, indeed!” cried old Elspeth. “When I saw you at 'Takin' the book,' and saw you so like your poor father, I could have cried. You are Mr. Luke's bairn, and no mistake, my bonny lassie! Ah, I mind the day well when he came to my room the auld nursery in the parsonage, where I had reared him and told me that master had ordered him out of the house. I pray God I may never again see a face look as his looked then!” Tears started to her eyes at the recollection. Erica threw her arms round her neck, and kissed her. “You love him still. I see you love him!” she exclaimed, all her feeling of isolation melting in the assurance of the old servant's sympathy. So, after all, Erica had a maid in attendance, for Elspeth insisted on seeing her to bed, and, since they talked all the time about the old Scotch days, she was well content to renounce her independence for a little while. But, whether because of the flickering fire light, or because of the strangeness of the great brass bedstead, with its silken hangings and many-colored Indian rezai, Erica slept very little that night. Perhaps the long talk about her father's early days had taken too great a hold of her. At any rate, she tossed about very restlessly in her luxurious quarters, and when, for brief intervals, she slept, it was only to dream of her father taking leave of his Scottish home, and always he bore that flint-like face, that look of strong endurance and repressed passion which Elspeth had described, and which, in times of trouble and injustice, Erica had learned to know so well. CHAPTER XXV. Lady Caroline's Dinner The blank of amaze of your haughty gaze, The cold surprise of patrician eyes. Lewis Morris But the paucity of Christians is astonishing, considering the number of them. Leigh Hunt.