When they had risen from their knees, he bade her get her hat and coat, saying, "You need fresh air and exercise. I will take you for a walk."
"I'd like to go, papa," she said; "but"—
"But what?"
"I—I'm afraid of—of meeting some of the family; and—and I don't want to see any of them."
"Perhaps we shall not meet them," he said; "and, if we do, you need not look toward them; and they will not speak to you. Put on your hat and coat at once: we have no time to lose."
She obeyed; and presently they were walking down the avenue, not having met any one on their way out of the house.
The captain moved on in silence, seemingly absorbed in sad thought, and hardly conscious that Lulu was by his side.
She glanced wistfully up into his grave, stern face two or three times, then said humbly, pleadingly, "Papa, please may I put my hand in yours?"
"Certainly," he said, looking down at her very kindly, as he took her hand, and held it in a warm, affectionate clasp. "Child, you have not lost your father's love. You are very dear to me, in spite of all your naughtiness."
He slackened his pace, for he saw she was finding it difficult to keep up with him; and his attention was again attracted to the heat of her hand.