"Then why not go to the Barracks? Order the carriage, and I will go with you."
His smile faded. He stood looking down at her fixedly, as was sometimes his habit. Grave tenderness was in his tone.
"Jinny," he said slowly, "Jinny, do you mean to marry Clarence?"
The suddenness of the question took her breath. But she answered steadily:
"Yes."
"Do you love him?
"Yes," she answered. But her lashes fell.
Still he stood, and it seemed to her that her father's gaze pierced to her secret soul.
"Come here, my dear," he said.
He held out his arms, and she fluttered into them. The tears were come at last. It was not the first time she had cried out her troubles against that great heart which had ever been her strong refuge. From childhood she had been comforted there. Had she broken her doll, had Mammy Easter been cross, had lessons gone wrong at school, was she ill, or weary with that heaviness of spirit which is woman's inevitable lot,—this was her sanctuary. But now! This burden God Himself had sent, and none save her Heavenly Father might cure it. Through his great love for her it was given to Colonel Carvel to divine it—only vaguely.