Barbe caught Norah's arm presently.
"Ask them over to finish their merriment," she said persuasively. "Daffodil is very tired and must go to bed."
She looked like a little ghost now and her eyes were heavy.
"Yes, yes; we ought to have a little thought," and Norah rapped on the table and gave her invitation, which was cordially accepted.
"Dear little daughter," began her father. "It's rather wild and rough, but it is their idea of a good, hearty welcome. And you must pardon grandad. He has a warm, loving heart."
"Oh, yes; I know all that. But I am tired." And her voice was full of tears.
"Oh, child, it would be hard to have you outgrow us. And I love you so! I had such hard work to win your love in the beginning. But you don't remember."
"Oh, yes, I do. Was I dreadful? I think I couldn't love any one all at once. And I didn't like mother to care so, when she had loved me best. But I know better now. Her love for me is different from her love for Felix and her love for you. Oh, I am glad to be back." And she clung to him convulsively.
He hoped in his heart she would never go away again. There were some promising beaux in the town. Of course she would marry. He wouldn't want his little girl to be an "old maid."
She said a long prayer that night, it seemed as if there had never been so many things to pray for. Then she crawled into bed and cried softly, she did not know why. Did she wish herself back?