Three days after, Captain Despard was to come home. It did not disturb Lottie that Captain Temple questioned her very closely as to where her father had gone. “Was he alone, do you know?” the old man said. “Alone? Oh, yes, I suppose so,” said Lottie. What did it matter? She could see Rollo behind the old beech-tree. Of course it was a drawback that the Captain should be with her so often, but it pleased the kind old man; they met and they had their little talk, which perhaps was all the more unlike the common intercourse of earth that worlds of meaning had to be trusted to a tone, to a sudden meeting in the dusk (when you could see nobody, Captain Temple said) of two pairs of eyes: and when all is unutterable is not this as good a way of utterance as any? And then Lottie said she must go home. Papa was coming home. He had been gone three days. As they went back the old Captain was more and more kind to Lottie. He kept her at the door for a moment with her hand between his two old kind hands. “My dear, don’t be afraid to send for me or to come to me when you want anything--my wife and I will always be ready to be of use to you. You will not forget, Lottie?” “Oh, no, Captain Temple,” she said; “you are always so kind to me; how could I forget?” And she went in smiling to herself, wondering what he could think she would want. But he was always kind, as kind as a father; far, far kinder than her own father, she could not but remember, with a little shrug of her shoulders. Had papa come in? Mary said “No,” and Lottie went into the little dining-room to see that the supper was prettily arranged. There was nothing more than cold meat, and cheese, and bread and butter; but the bouquet in the middle, which was made up of brilliantly-coloured leaves, was pretty; and the white tablecloth and the plates and glasses looked bright. In her happiness she began to sing softly as she pulled the leaves into a prettier form in the long clear glass they were grouped in. The lamp was lighted, the table was bright, the door stood open. Lottie, through her singing, heard steps coming up the pavement outside, and voices. All of a sudden she paused, thinking she heard her father’s voice. Who could he be bringing with him, without any preparation? She cast a hasty glance at the beef, and saw with satisfaction that there would be enough for a stranger; enough, but not perhaps too much--he might have let her know. Then she heard his voice quite close to the window, which was open, for the night was warm for October--“Look in, and you will see her,” he said. “Oh, I know her very well,” said another voice, with a laugh. Lottie turned round, with her heart beating, towards the window, where something white was visible. What could it mean?--was it a woman?--_a woman_ with her father at this hour of the evening? She grew pale, she could not tell why, and gazed first at the window, then at the door, with a flutter of tears which she could not understand.