“Mabel. But—you—won't, will you, Daddy?”
“Mabel is a silly little goose,” said Mr. Murray angrily. “No, never fear, my Sweetheart, they won't expect me to go. I am far too old, you know. Now, then, off you go to sleep. Do you know, the moon is shining so bright outside that the little birds can't sleep. I just heard a little bird as we were coming home cheeping away just like, you. I believe she could not go to sleep.”
But the child could not forget that terrible word which had rooted itself in her heart. “But you will not go; promise me, Daddy, you will not go.”
“Why, Sweetheart, listen to me.”
“But promise me, Daddy, promise me.” The little thing clung to him in a paroxysm of grief and terror.
“Listen, Isabel dear,” said her father quietly. “You know I always tell you the truth. Now listen to me. I promise you I won't go until you send me yourself. Will that do?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she said, and drew a long breath. “Now I am so tired, Daddy.” Even as she spoke the little form relaxed in his arms and in a moment she was fast asleep.
As her father held her there the Spectre drew near again, but for the moment his courage failed him and he dared not look.