He went to the stables, mounted his cob and ambled all over his plantation, looking after such work as could only go on at this season of the year—mending of fences, repair of outbuildings, of agricultural implements, and so forth.

Then he came back to the house and hung about it in hope of meeting his daughter.

At length, about noon, he saw her out on the lawn, warmly clothed in her close-fitting brown cloth coat, and her quaint brown beaver poke bonnet tied down tightly as if for a walk in the wind on this bright, breezy December day.

He quickly slipped on his overcoat, snatched his hat and gloves, and hurried after her.

He overtook her just as she reached the east gate opening upon the path that led down to the shore.

he sang, gayly, as he came up with her.

She started, looked around and recognized her father.

“I am going down to the shore, papa,” she answered, as prosaically as if he had not sung his question. But he was not put down.

he continued, taking her hand and drawing it through his arm.

But she was not be won to any frivolity, so she replied, gravely:

“I should be very glad to have you, papa.”

he continued, in a tone of mock gravity.

“What is the matter with you to-day, papa, dear?” she inquired, uneasily regarding him.

“Why do you ask? Because I quote old poetry? My dear, it is to convince you that I am in excellent humor with all the world, and that you have no cause to complain of me. I do not intend to enact the rÔle of a ‘cruel parent,’ in order to make you a persecuted heroine. I do not even intend to reproach you with your inconstancy!—though I do hope it is not going to be a chronic complaint!—because it would be embarrassing, for instance, if while we were in the midst of the preparations for your wedding with Anglesea, young Herriott, the new minister, were to come and beg my indulgence to explain to me how you never really cared for the colonel, but found your salvation depend on your union with him—Herriott! And by the time we have adapted ourselves to the new situation, young Dr. Ingle should solicit a private interview and inform me that you——”

“Oh, papa! don’t! don’t!” exclaimed the girl, almost surprised into a smile.

“Well, I will ‘don’t,’ until we get down this hill, which is rather rugged!” said Mr. Force, as he passed his daughter, and went before her down the declivity, clearing away the branches of tall bushes that crowded and obstructed the narrow path.

When they reached the foot of the hill he once more gave her his arm, and they walked along the sands toward the north—Mr. Force purposely taking that direction, because it was the opposite one from that which led toward Greenbushes.

“Now, my darling,” he continued, “laying all jokes aside, I wished to talk to you to-day, to assure you that you need not distress yourself, either about my fancied disappointment or about Le’s fancied despair, when he shall hear of your change of mind.”

“Papa——”

“Hear me out, my darling! Hi! look at that rise of blue necks! If Anglesea were only here with his gun and dogs! He is a famous shot, my dear! Where was I? Oh! I say, as for myself, I am quite satisfied to receive Anglesea as my son-in-law. He is of noble race—there is a marquisate in the family, though too far removed to do him much good, except in the honor of the connection. He is of moderate fortune, very moderate; but wealth should not be the first consideration, you know! He is a fine, noble, generous, chivalrous fellow, and I like and admire him. And more than this—more than all else, he is my dear daughter’s choice, and as such I shall welcome him into the family circle.”

“Oh, papa, papa!” moaned Odalite, pierced through the heart by the thought of how little her father knew of the real character of the man, the real circumstances of the case, and how impossible it was for her to enlighten him.

“Still so grave, my little one? It is of Leonidas you are thinking! Do not fret your tender heart about him, my darling girl! If you, after three years separation from your boyish lover, have changed toward him—of which, in your secluded home, there was about one chance in a hundred of your doing—be sure that he, in his long absence from his childish sweetheart, on his long cruise around the world, has half forgotten the baby girl he left behind—as there must have been a hundred chances to one that he would. I think he will in time be able to console himself with your sister. It is all in the family, you know!” he said, looking down quizzically at the young face by his side.

But, somehow, the expression of that face did not convey the idea of any great satisfaction. Quite the contrary. Odalite looked ready to cry.

“I do believe girls, with their lovers, are like dogs in the manger; they can’t marry them all, and yet they are not willing that any other girl should have any of the rejected ones! Sweet angel!—the girl of the nineteenth century!”

“I do not think,” murmured Odalite, breaking in upon her father’s silent criticism—“I do not think, judging from Le’s letters, that he has ever changed toward me. No, papa, I do not wish to justify myself by accusing Le.”

“Le’s letters, my dear! Why, they afford the strongest proofs to my mind that he is not, and never has been, the least bit in love with you.”

Odalite looked up in surprise.

“My dear, you have no experience, or you would never mistake Le’s practical epistles for love letters. Why, you let all the family read them! You could not if they were love letters.”

“Why, papa?”

“Because, my dear, if they were, they would be much too silly to be shown. You would not think so; but you would have sense enough left to know that other people would; and so you would hide them. But Le’s letters are laudably practical and fit to be shown to a deacon, as, for instance, this:

“‘Tell Beever he can stay on as overseer as long as you please; so he must look out and please you. Tell him I don’t know anything about the relative merits of Durham or Alderney breeds of cattle, or Southdown sheep, or anything of that sort. I took my degree at a naval academy, not at an agricultural college. So you just buy what stock you like best, and if you don’t know any better than I do, ask your father. He does.’

“That’s the sort of love letters Le writes to you, my dear! A letter that he might have written to his attorney or to his overseer!”

“And yet, showing in every line, in every word, his constant consideration for me, his wish to defer everything to me,” sighed Odalite.

“Showing the carelessness of the sailor, rather than the devotion of the lover! But look you here, my little girl! How is this? Grieving—actually grieving for Le, while you are loving and engaging to marry Anglesea? I do not understand it!”

“Oh, papa! It is only that I wish to be just to Le! And I wish you to be just to him. However you may blame my fickleness, do not blame him; he has not changed!”

“Tut, tut, my dear! Young naval officers sailing all over the world, seeing all sorts of beautiful and attractive women of all races and nations, do not break their hearts about little, childish sweethearts left in their country homes, and whom they have not seen for years! Midshipman Leonidas Force, if he aspires to marry one of my daughters, must put up with the second Miss Force! Ay, and must wait until she is of suitable age! Now let us talk about the wedding! The colonel—he is something like a lover!—wants it to come off as soon as may be, before Christmas, if possible! What do you say, my dear?” inquired the squire, just to divert his daughter’s mind from what he considered a morbid and painful compassion for the discarded lover’s wrongs.

“It shall be just as my mother pleases, sir! I should like to leave everything to her,” replied Odalite.

“That is quite right. The mother is the proper one, of course. Well, talk to her, my precious, and whatever arrangements you two agree upon I shall indorse. It seems to be clouding up. I should not wonder if we were to have snow before night. Shall we turn homeward?”

“Yes, if you please, papa.”

“Oh! look at those wild turkeys! What a splendid chance for a shot, if I only had my fowling piece. Strange that I only have such chances when I have no gun—and consequently no chance at all!” laughed the squire, as they turned to go up the hill.

They reached the house just as the first fine flakes of snow began to fall.

“It will be a white Christmas, with fine sleighing, after all, perhaps,” said the squire, cheerily, as they entered the house.

“Dinner has been waiting full half an hour, papa. And I would like to know where you and Odalite have been gadding to without saying a word to anybody. And I would like also to know—oh! how I should like to know—what has come to everybody in the house, that nobody but Elva and I and Miss Meeke have any common sense left!” exclaimed Wynnette, meeting the returning couple.

“Whereas the simple and exact truth is, that you three are the real and only lunatics in the house, and, like all lunatics, think everybody else but yourselves mad,” laughed the squire, as he led his eldest daughter straight to the dining room.