He went at first daily to inquire for the old man, and never failed to see Lilias somewhere waiting for him with serious, intent face, and eyes which questioned even when the lips did not speak. Lilias did not say much at any time. She examined his face with her eyes and said “Papa?” with a voice which trembled; but it became by degrees less easy to satisfy Lilias by telling her, as he did so often, that he had not forgotten, that he was doing everything that could be done, smoothing the way for her father’s return, or waiting till he could more successfully smooth the way. “You do not believe me, Lily,” Geoff said, with a sense of being doubted, which hurt him sadly. “Yes; but he is not your papa, Mr. Geoff, and you are grown up and don’t want any one,” Lilias said, with her lip quivering. The visionary child was deeply cast down by the condition of the house and the recollection of the melancholy rigid figure which she had seen carried past, with a pang of indescribable pain and terror. Lilias seemed to see him lying in his room, where Mary now spent almost all her time, pale with that deadly ashen paleness, his faded eyes half open, his helpless hands lying like bits of rag, all the grey fingers huddled together. Fright and sorrow together brought a sob out of her heart whenever she thought of this; not moving, not able to speak, or turn round, or look up at those who watched him; and still not dead! Lilias felt her heart stand still as she thought of her grandfather. And she had no one to take refuge with. Martuccia was frightened too, and would not go up or down stairs alone. Lilias, for her part, did all she could, out of pride, and shame of her own weakness, to conceal her terror; but oh, to have papa nigh to creep close to, to feel safe because he was there! A few tears dropped from her eyes. “You are grown up and you don’t want any one.” This went to Geoff’s heart. “Oh Lily, don’t you think they would let you come to my mother?” he cried; “this is too sad for you, this dismal house; and if Nello goes away as you said----” “Do you think I would go and leave Mary all alone? Nobody is sorry for Mary except me--and Mr. Pen. When she comes out of her room I go and I kiss her hand, and she cries. She would be more ill and more weary,” said Lilias, with a precocious understanding, “if there was not some little thing to give her an excuse and make her cry.” “My little Lily! who taught you all that? it must have been the angels,” cried Geoff, kissing in his turn the little hand.