Such a glimpse as a man of my years and experience may get from
a young girl!”  The father’s face grew graver as I went on; but he said
nothing. I was committed now to a definite line of speech, and went on
with such mastery of my mind as I could exercise. The occasion might
be fraught with serious consequences to me too. “I could not but see that there was over her spirit a sense of
loneliness which was habitual to her. I thought I understood it; I am
myself an only child. I ventured to encourage her to speak to me
freely; and was happy enough to succeed. A sort of confidence became
established between us.”  There was something in the father’s face
which made me add hurriedly:

“Nothing was said by her, sir, as you can well imagine, which was not
right and proper. She only told me in the impulsive way of one longing
to give voice to thoughts long carefully concealed, of her yearning to
be closer to the father whom she loved; more en rapport with him; more
in his confidence; closer within the circle of his sympathies. Oh,
believe me, sir, that it was all good! All that a father’s heart could
hope or wish for! It was all loyal! That she spoke it to me was
perhaps because I was almost a stranger with whom there was no previous
barrier to confidence.”

Here I paused. It was hard to go on; and I feared lest I might, in my
zeal, do Margaret a disservice. The relief of the strain came from her
father. “And you?”

“Sir, Miss Trelawny is very sweet and beautiful! She is young; and her
mind is like crystal! Her sympathy is a joy! I am not an old man, and
my affections were not engaged. They never had been till then. I hope
I may say as much, even to a father!” My eyes involuntarily dropped. When I raised them again Mr. Trelawny was still gazing at me keenly. All the kindliness of his nature seemed to wreath itself in a smile as
he held out his hand and said:

“Malcolm Ross, I have always heard of you as a fearless and honourable
gentleman. I am glad my girl has such a friend! Go on!”

My heart leaped. The first step to the winning of Margaret’s father
was gained. I dare say I was somewhat more effusive in my words and my
manner as I went on. I certainly felt that way. “One thing we gain as we grow older:  to use our age judiciously! I
have had much experience. I have fought for it and worked for it all
my life; and I felt that I was justified in using it. I ventured to
ask Miss Trelawny to count on me as a friend; to let me serve her
should occasion arise. She promised me that she would. I had little
idea that my chance of serving her should come so soon or in such a
way; but that very night you were stricken down. In her desolation and
anxiety she sent for me!” I paused. He continued to look at me as I
went on:

“When your letter of instructions was found, I offered my services. They were accepted, as you know.”

“And these days, how did they pass for you?”  The question startled me. There was in it something of Margaret’s own voice and manner; something
so greatly resembling her lighter moments that it brought out all the
masculinity in me. I felt more sure of my ground now as I said:

“These days, sir, despite all their harrowing anxiety, despite all the
pain they held for the girl whom I grew to love more and more with each
passing hour, have been the happiest of my life!”  He kept silence for
a long time; so long that, as I waited for him to speak, with my heart
beating, I began to wonder if my frankness had been too effusive. At
last he said:

“I suppose it is hard to say so much vicariously. Her poor mother
should have heard you; it would have made her heart glad!”  Then a
shadow swept across his face; and he went on more hurriedly. “But are you quite sure of all this?”

“I know my own heart, sir; or, at least, I think I do!”

“No! no!” he answered, “I don’t mean you. That is all right! But you
spoke of my girl’s affection for me ... and yet...! And yet she has
been living here, in my house, a whole year.... Still, she spoke to you
of her loneliness—her desolation. I never—it grieves me to say it,
but it is true—I never saw sign of such affection towards myself in
all the year!...”  His voice trembled away into sad, reminiscent
introspection. “Then, sir,” I said, “I have been privileged to see more in a few days
than you in her whole lifetime!”  My words seemed to call him up from
himself; and I thought that it was with pleasure as well as surprise
that he said:

“I had no idea of it. I thought that she was indifferent to me. That
what seemed like the neglect of her youth was revenging itself on me. That she was cold of heart.... It is a joy unspeakable to me that her
mother’s daughter loves me too!” Unconsciously he sank back upon his
pillow, lost in memories of the past. How he must have loved her mother! It was the love of her mother’s
child, rather than the love of his own daughter, that appealed to him. My heart went out to him in a great wave of sympathy and kindliness. I
began to understand. To understand the passion of these two great,
silent, reserved natures, that successfully concealed the burning
hunger for the other’s love! It did not surprise me when presently he
murmured to himself:

“Margaret, my child! Tender, and thoughtful, and strong, and true, and
brave! Like her dear mother! like her dear mother!”

And then to the very depths of my heart I rejoiced that I had spoken so
frankly. Presently Mr. Trelawny said:

“Four days! The sixteenth! Then this is the twentieth of July?”  I
nodded affirmation; he went on:

“So I have been lying in a trance for four days. It is not the first
time. I was in a trance once under strange conditions for three days;
and never even suspected it till I was told of the lapse of time. I
shall tell you all about it some day, if you care to hear.”

That made me thrill with pleasure. That he, Margaret’s father, would
so take me into his confidence made it possible.... The business-like,
every-day alertness of his voice as he spoke next quite recalled me:

“I had better get up now. When Margaret comes in, tell her yourself
that I am all right. It will avoid any shock! And will you tell
Corbeck that I would like to see him as soon as I can. I want to see
those lamps, and hear all about them!”

His attitude towards me filled me with delight. There was a possible
father-in-law aspect that would have raised me from a death-bed. I was
hurrying away to carry out his wishes; when, however, my hand was on
the key of the door, his voice recalled me:

“Mr. Ross!”

I did not like to hear him say “Mr.”  After he knew of my friendship
with his daughter he had called me Malcolm Ross; and this obvious
return to formality not only pained, but filled me with apprehension. It must be something about Margaret. I thought of her as “Margaret”
and not as “Miss Trelawny”, now that there was danger of losing her. I
know now what I felt then:  that I was determined to fight for her
rather than lose her. I came back, unconsciously holding myself erect.