The voice was strangely familiar to Millie. Where had she heard it before? She raised her eyes and gazed anxiously into his face. Why, surely it was none other than— For a moment a feeling of terror seized her. It was so dark that she could not see clearly; the wind moaned among the branches of the leafless trees, and a superstitious awe seemed to freeze her senses. Then the old faith that her father was living, nay, did live, rushed to her heart with overwhelming force. "Why," she said, with a little cry of joy, "'tis father himself. Father, dear father, don't you know me?" "It can't be our little Millie. 'Tis, though, sure enough. Millie, my own precious child, I was told—" You can imagine the rest for yourselves. * * * * * "Phil," said Millie, trying to tone down the happy ring in her voice, but which, nevertheless, would make itself heard, "I am afraid you have been dull all by yourself. Don't you want your tea badly? Why didn't you begin?" "I waited for you. Why, how pretty you look to-night, Millie! The candle shines upon your face, and your cheeks have such a pretty pink colour in them, while as for your eyes, they sparkle like jewels. When I get better, I'll try my hand at painting your portrait." "So you shall, dear. Phil, I have such good news for you." "Have you? Is Miss Crawford coming down?" "No, better news than that." "I can't think of anything that would be better. It would be uncommonly jolly to hear we hadn't to go back to London, but might just live here always. But that can't be, so it's no good guessing." "I think it might be managed, dear, after all." "Have you had a fortune left you, or when you were out, did you meet a fairy who made you a present of the wonderful wishing cap?" "Yes, that's it, Phil. I met a fairy, a real fairy. My darling, do you remember—" Millie changed her voice and spoke seriously and solemnly—"do you remember how I have always said, as mother did, that father would come back to us again some day?" Phil breathed hard; his face flushed, then became as pale as death. "I have seen somebody this afternoon," Millie continued, "who told me that I was right after all. Father is alive. We shall see him soon. Only think of that, my darling." But Phil made no answer; he had fainted, and Millie's cry for help brought her father and Mrs. Blake to his bedside. As soon as there were signs of returning consciousness, Millie whispered her father to leave the room till she had more fully prepared her brother to meet him. Then, when Phil had quite recovered, she made him drink his tea and eat a piece of toast before she would allow him to say a word. Millie was vexed with herself beyond measure. She accused herself of having been too hasty, and not sufficiently careful in breaking the news to him; but had she been twenty times more gentle, Phil's nerves were so weakened by suffering, that the least shock would have unnerved and prostrated him.