My voice was choked, there came a lump in my throat. After a moment I said, in a totally different sort of voice:

"We'll walk slowly, darling. Darling, I understand."

"Bless the child! of course she understands," he replied, and he squeezed my arm in his old, affectionate manner.

Thank G.o.d! we were on the top at last. The beautiful fresh air came towards us, laden with salt from the sea, laden with freshness, and purity, and beauty. My father's tired eyes brightened; he stretched himself and looked about him. There was a lot of sunshine flooding the place, and there was no sort of shade, but neither he nor I minded that.

"Come where the heather is most purple," I said. "Now, here--here's a bed for you and another for me. Stretch yourself; I'll lie close to you.

Isn't it just lovely?"

"Upon my word, it is, Heather; it's heavenly."

"Daddy, I wonder sometimes why you called me Heather?"

"It was your mother's wish--your first mother, I mean."

"Oh, father, I could not have two mothers; you know that it would be impossible!"

"So it would. Well, it was your mother's--your real mother's wish. Fact is, she was very ill when you were born, and there was a bit of Scotch blood in her; she had lived in Aberdeenshire. She was all Aberdeen in every sort of way, through and through, in her nature, I mean; canny, and straight and true, like the real, best Scotch folks. After you were born she had a sort of fever, and she saw purple heather all around her--the heather of the moors. So she begged of me to call the child 'Heather,' and I did. You are called after the moors in Aberdeenshire--a very respectable sort of ancestress, too, eh, Heather, my love, eh, eh?"

"Yes, father."

My father had now recovered his breath; he sat upright and looked at me; he took my hand.

"I have something to say to you," was his remark.

I looked back at him and nodded. Our joyful time together was over now; our time of pain had begun. I knew this fact quite well. I nodded to him emphatically.

"And I have something to say to you."

"Well, Heather, I, being the elder, have the privilege of my years, have I not?"

"You have," I said.

I was glad of this. I was a coward at that moment, and wanted to put off the evil day.

"Well, now, little girl, a straight question requires a straight answer.

Why did you leave your mother's house and mine yesterday, and go away without saying a word to anybody? Do you think you acted kindly or well to Lady Helen or myself?"

"I acted as I only could act under the circ.u.mstances," was my reply.

"But tell me why, Heather."

"You know what you did, father. You sent away the man I loved. I love him with all my heart and soul and strength. You sent him away. Then you and Lady Helen spoke to me; you said I was to give him up. I don't--I mean that kind of thing would never make me give him up, never! I could not live in the house with Lady Helen. She wanted me to marry Lord Hawtrey; father, I will never marry him--he knows it. You, father, you and Lady Helen, did your utmost to break my heart, but my heart is my own as my life is my own. I could no longer stay with you. Father, I have chosen; I have come back to the poor life, to the humble life, to the little life at Cherton, to Aunt Penelope's house and to Aunt Penelope's home once more. I don't want grandeur, I don't want what Lady Helen calls a high position--I should hate it, I should loathe it; it would be torture to me. Father, I won't have it!"

He was quite silent, but, just as I had done that morning, he began to pull up pieces of purple heather and to scatter the little bells on the gra.s.s by his side. His eyes were lowered.

"I hate the world!" I said.

After a long pause, he spoke.

"Bless you, Heather."

"Father!"

"For saying those words," he continued.

"Oh, father, I knew you agreed with me in your heart of hearts."

"I do, but I am tied and bound--yes, child, tied and bound. I can't escape; I can never escape; never, never!"

"Father, I am coming to your part of all this in a few minutes, but first I want to speak about myself. Do you dislike the man I love? You don't know him; I do. I have seen him often at the Carringtons. He is strong, and brave and upright; he is not rich, but neither is he poor; he could marry me without taking any fortune with me; he could marry me, yes, me, just as I stand, and we should be happy--happy as the day is long. Father, I won't have that old man, and, what is more, I know that he won't have me. I will tell you what I did yesterday. You and Lady Helen between you broke my heart--oh, I had an awful time! I don't blame you much, but I must--I must say that I blame you a little. I sat in my room until you went out, and then I determined that whatever happened I would live my own life, that I would not be tied and bound to that awful, dreadful stepmother of mine. I saw that she was ruining you, that she was destroying your happiness, that she was making your life a h.e.l.l to you, and I vowed that she should not destroy mine. I wondered who could help me, I wondered and wondered, and at last a bold thought occurred to me, and I determined to go into the lion's den."

"Child, what do you mean?"

I put my hand on his; his hand was fat and flabby, not the firm, brown, muscular hand that I used to remember.

"I went to Lord Hawtrey," I said very quickly.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand away, stood upright, and looked at me.

"What! you went to Hawtrey--to his house?"

"Yes. I found his address on a visiting card. I went there in a taxi-cab; he was out, but I waited for him--he came in presently, he was very nice--oh, yes! I saw him for a minute or two. I said I wanted to speak to him; he told me he could not attend to me then or in his own house, but he would send his sister to me."

"Thank goodness!" said my father.

"Her name was Lady Mary Percy. She was a nice woman; she came and she took me to her house, and there and then I told her everything. I told her about Vernon and about--about her brother, and what her brother had said to me. She was kind, although she said one or two strange things. I could not quite understand her, and some of the things she said stuck in my mind. She seemed to think that I had refused the greatest match in England."

"And so you have, you most silly of all little Heathers."

"Oh, no, Daddy! The greatest match in all England I have not refused; I have accepted Vernon Carbury. He is the best husband in all the world for me."

"It is amazing what love will do," said my father then. "I felt something like that for your mother--eh! but that was a long time ago!"

"Then, of course, you understand," I said, nestling up to him, "you are my darling old Dad, and you quite understand."

"I don't, not a bit; and yet, at the same time, I do. Well, go on. You were at Lady Mary Percy's when you left off talking. How, in the name of fortune, did you get here?"

"I left her after a bit. I would not go back to you, so I came to Aunt Penelope. I took the train here; I had money; and it was quite simple. I found my darling auntie very ill, but the sight of me has made her better. The doctor was so glad when I came back, and so was poor little Jonas--the b.u.t.tons, you know, Dad--you remember the b.u.t.tons?"

"Yes, yes; of course, I remember him."

"Auntie is in bed, very weak."

"Then she won't want to see me," said my father, restlessly.

"Yes; of course she will; she is expecting you. But now, I want to say something to you. I must say it; oh, Daddy, I must."