Maude, until she found herself in the railway carriage returning from
Plymouth with her eldest uncle. Her father had intended to take her
himself to Silverfold; but detentions at the office in London, and then
a telegram from Plymouth, had disconcerted his plans, and when he found
that his eldest brother would come and meet him at the last, he was
glad to yield to his little daughter's earnest desire to be with him as
long as possible.

Shy and reserved as both were, and almost incapable of finding
expression for their feelings, they still clung closely together,
though the only tears the girl was seen to shed came in church on the
last Sunday evening, blinding and choking, and she could barely
restrain her sobs. Her father would have taken her out, but she
resisted, and leant against him, while he put his arm round her. After
this, whenever it was possible, she crept up to him, and he held her
close.

There had been no further discussion on her home. Lady Merrifield had
written kindly to her, as well as to her father, but that was small
consolation to one so well instructed by story books in the hypocrisy
of aunts until fathers were at a distance. And her father was so
manifestly gratified by the letter, that it would be of no use to say a
word to him now. Her fate was determined, and, as she heroically told
Maude in their last interview, she was determined to make the best of
it. She would endure the unjust aunt, and jealous, silly cousins, and
be so clever, and wise, and superior, that she would force them to
admire and respect her, and by-and-by follow her example, and be good
and sensible, so that when father came home, he would find them
acknowledging that they owed everything to her; she had saved two or
three of their lives, nursed half of them when the other half were