"There, Lion, you and I are friends once more," Mr. Guy observed, "though I fear you hold but a poor opinion of me, old dog. Come, Felicia, you are not hard-hearted, you will forgive me for my ill-temper, won't you? Yes, I knew you would; but I suppose you did bear malice in your heart—eh?"
"I—I—yes," Felicia admitted; "it made me very unhappy, and even when I was under the arbutus tree I never intended seeing you to-night without you sent for me—but I couldn't stay away."
"How was that?"
"I kept on thinking of that verse in the Bible about being kind and tender-hearted, and so—and so I had to come."
"What is the verse? Repeat it to me."
Felicia did so, in a low tone and rather hesitatingly, for she was always a little shy and fearful that Uncle Guy would misunderstand her. He made no comment, however, but, by-and-by, he asked her what she had been talking about to his father on the previous night, he had heard their voices in the garden; whereupon, her grave countenance broke into smiles, and she informed him of the present which was to be sent to Mrs. M'Cosh.
"I have written telling her to expect it," she explained. "Oh, won't she be pleased? Dear Mrs. M'Cosh! I don't suppose I shall ever see her again," she added regretfully.
"Why not? My father often goes to Bristol; you must persuade him to take you with him one day to visit your old friends."
"Oh, do you think he would?" Felicia cried excitedly.
"Well, I hardly know; still, there would be no harm in asking him. I believe, really, he would like you to forget your old life; but it does not appear that he was unfavourably impressed by Mrs. M'Cosh. Father is rather a good judge of character."