None like her, none.'—Tennyson's Maud.
Two years had elapsed since Olive Lambert had made her noble decision, and during that time triple events had happened. Mr. Trelawny's suffering life was over, Rex had married his faithful Polly, and Dr. Heriot and Mildred had rejoiced over their first-born son.
Mr. Trelawny did not long survive the evening when Richard found him on the sunny terrace; towards the end of the autumn there was a brief rally, a strange flicker of restless life; his confused faculties seemed striving to clear themselves; at times there was a strained dilated look in the dark eyes that was almost pitiful; he seemed unwilling to have Ethel out of his sight—even for a moment.
One night he called her to him. She was standing at the window finishing some embroidery by the fading light, but at the first sound of the weak, querulous tones, she turned her cheerful face towards him, for however weary she felt, there was always a smile for him.
'What is it, dear father?' for in those sad last days the holy name of father had come involuntarily to her lips. True, she had tasted little of his fatherhood, but still he was hers—her father.
'Put down that tiresome work and come to me,' he went on, fretfully; 'you are always at work—always—as though you had your bread to earn; there is plenty to spare for you. Rupert will take care of you; you need not fear, Ethel.'
'No, dear, I am not afraid,' she returned coming to his side, and parting his hair with her soft fingers.
How often she had kissed those gray streaks, and the poor wrinkled forehead. He was an old man now, bowed and decrepit, sitting there with his lifeless arm folded to his side. But how she loved him—her poor, stricken father!
'No, you were always a good girl. Ethel, are the boys asleep?'