There was a dead silence. In the midst of it the little one crept from her corner, and stood between her parents, her little hands stretched out, and her eyes full of tears.
“Olive has done nothing wrong? Papa and mamma, you are not angry with poor little Olive?”
For the first time, as she looked into the poor child's face, there flashed across the mother's memory the likeness of the angel in her dream. She pressed the thought back, almost angrily, but it came again. Then Sybilla stooped down, and, for the only time since her babyhood, Olive found herself lifted to her mother's embrace.
“The child had better go away to bed,” said Captain Rothesay.
Olive was carried out nestling closely in her mother's arms.
When Sybilla came back the angry pout had passed away, though a grave troubled shadow still remained. She made tea for her husband, tried to talk on common topics once or twice, but he gave little encouragement. Before retiring to rest, she said to him, timidly,
“There is no quarrel between us, Angus?”
“Not in the least, my dear,” he answered, with that composed deprecation of any offence, given or received, which is the most painful check to an impulsive nature; “only, we will not discuss matters of business together again. Women never can talk things over quietly. Good-night, Sybilla.”
He lifted his head a little, a very little, for her accustomed kiss. She gave it, but with it there came a sigh. He scarcely noticed either one or the other, being apparently deep in a large folio “Commentary on the Proverbs,” for it was Sunday evening. He lingered for a whole hour over the last chapter, and chiefly the passages,—
“Who can find a virtuous woman;
for her price is far above rubies.
The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her:
so that he shall have no need of spoil....
She openeth her mouth with wisdom:
and in her tongue is the law of kindness.”