Wild Heather. Meade L. T.

I ceased to whisper and stood before father, just a little way off, but at the same time so close that he could see me well.

      "I have heard the news, Dad," I said.

      "Well, and isn't it just rippin'?" he said. "Don't you congratulate me – I, a poor beggar – to get a wife like that, and you – a mother like that!"

      "She will never be my mother, father, if you marry her a hundred times."

      "Come, come, that is so bourgeoise, that kind of speech is so completely out of date; but Helen will explain to you. Now, what is it you want, little Heather? I'm sure Helen has spent enough money on your little person to satisfy you for one morning."

      "Was it her own money she spent?" I asked.

      "Gracious, child!" cried my father. "What other money could she spend?"

      "Why, yours – I thought it was yours," I said, with a sob.

      "Mine!" he said. "I haven't a stiver in the world to bless myself with. But there, I am a rich man for all that. Helen is rich, and what is hers is mine, and she's going to do the right thing by you, Heather – the right thing by you."

      "Daddy," I said, very slowly, "I waited for you during all the years while I was growing up, and yesterday I found you again – or rather, I ought to say a few days ago, when you came to see me at Hill View, and now again I have lost you."

      "Bourgeoise, bourgeoise," muttered my father; "those words are Penelope's words. She'd be sure to speak to you like that."

      "Lady Carrington has asked me to stay here, and I should like to do it," I replied; "I am not going to wear any of the clothes she bought – no, not one, not one! But if you would come to see me to-morrow evening, perhaps we might have one long, last chat together. That is what I really wanted to ask you. Will you promise me, Dad?"

      "Dear me, how afflicting!" said my father. "How afflicting and sentimental and unnecessary – and after all I have lived through! I didn't know you'd grow up that sort of child; you were such a jolly little thing when I took you down to your aunt. It's your aunt who has spoilt you. You can stay here, of course, if you prefer this house to the Westminster. Helen won't like it; she has got a box for us at the opera to-night."

      "I can't go," I said.

      "Very well. She would hate to see a dismal child, and your clothes won't be ready for a day or two – at least, most of them – so perhaps you had better stay here. I'll just go and speak to Lady Carrington."

      Father left the room. By and by Lady Carrington came back alone.

      "They've gone, dear," she said, "and I have made arrangements with Major Grayson that you are to stay with us during the honeymoon, so that altogether you will be with us for quite a month, my child. Now, during that month I want you to be happy and to make the best of things. Do you hear me?"

      "Yes. I think I shall be happy with you. But oh! I have got a blow – I have got a blow!" I said.

      CHAPTER VII

      Father did not come to see me on Saturday night, although I hoped against hope that he would do so, but, to my great surprise, on Sunday evening he walked in, just as Lady Carrington was preparing to go out to evening service. I had refused to accompany her – I am afraid I made myself unpleasant to my kind friend on that occasion. I was overcome by the shock I had received, and this fresh and most unexpected parting from father, so that I could only centre my thoughts on myself.

      Father bustled into the house, and I heard his cheerful voice in the hall.

      "Hallo!" he said. "And how is the little woman?"

      Lady Carrington dropped her voice to a whisper, and father began to talk in low tones. Then they both approached the room where I was lying on a sofa by the fire. I was feeling cold and chilled, and the little colour I had ever boasted of in my face had completely left me. Now, as I heard steps coming nearer and nearer, my heart beat in a most tumultuous fashion. Then father and Lady Carrington entered the room.

      "Heather, here's your father," said my kindest friend. "Sir John and I are going to church, so you will have him quite to yourself. Now, cheer up, dear. By the way, Major Grayson, won't you stay and have supper with us afterwards?"

      "Will Carbury be here?" asked my father suddenly.

      "Yes, I think so. We asked him to come."

      "Then I'd better not – better not, you know." He exchanged glances with Lady Carrington, and I noticed a delicate wave of colour filling her smooth and still girlish cheeks. She went away the next moment, and left father and me alone.

      "Well, pussy cat," he said, looking down at me, "what is the meaning of all this rebellion? I didn't know you were such a queer little girl."

      "Oh, father!" I said.

      "Well, here is father. What does the little one want him to do?"

      "Pet me, pet me, pet me," I said, and I gave a great sob between each word.

      "Why, Heather, you are as great a baby as ever! Lady Helen says you are the most babyish creature she has ever come across in her life. My word, Heather, if you but knew it, you are in luck to have such a stepmother. I tell you, my child, you are in wonderful luck, for she is downright splendid!"

      "Please – please – may I say something?" My voice shook violently.

      "Of course you may, little mite."

      "Don't let us talk of her to-night. I'll try very hard to be good to-morrow, if you will promise not to speak of her once to-night."

      "It's hard on me, for my thoughts are full of her, but I'll endeavour to obey your small Majesty."

      Then I sprang into his arms, and cuddled him round the neck, and kissed his cheek over and over again.

      "Oh, I am so hungry for your love!" I said.

      "Poor mite! You will have two people to love instead – oh! I forgot – 'mum's' the word. Now then, Heather, let's look at you. Why, you're a washed-out little ghost of a girl! Even Aunt Penelope would be shocked if she saw you now."

      "Never mind Aunt Penelope just for the present," I said. "I have so much to say to you, and this is the very last evening."

      "Not a bit of it; there are hundreds of other evenings to follow."

      "Oh, no," I said; "this is the very last between you and me, quite to ourselves, Daddy."

      "I like to hear you say 'Daddy' – you have such a quaint little voice. Do you know, Heather, that when I was – when I was – "

      "When you were what, Daddy?"

      "Never mind; I was forgetting myself. I have lived through a great deal since you last saw me, child, since that time when you were so ill at Penelope Despard's."

      "Weren't you enjoying yourself during those long years in India, Daddy?"

      "Enjoying myself? Bless you, the discipline was too severe." Here my father burst out laughing, and then he unfastened my arms from his neck and put me gently down on the sofa and began to pace the room.

      "As a wild beast enjoys himself in a cage, so did I, little Heather; but it's over, thank Heaven, it's over; and – oh, dash it! – I can't speak of it! Heather, how do you like your new clothes?"

      "I haven't any new clothes," I answered demurely, "except the little black frock you gave me the night I came to you at the Westminster hotel. I put that on every evening because Lady Carrington wears something pretty at dinner-time."

      "But what have you done with all your other clothes?"

      "I told you, Daddy, I wouldn't wear them. She gave them to me."

      "Now, look here, Heather, once and for all you must stop this folly. I presume you don't want me to cease to love you. Well, you've got to be good to your stepmother, and you have got to accept the clothes she gives you. She and I are taking a beautiful house in a fashionable part of London and you are to live with us, and she will be nice to you if you will be nice to her – not otherwise, you understand – by no means otherwise. And if I see you nasty to her, or putting