Lucilla was in bed but not asleep.

She had retired to her room when the guests went to theirs, and without a formal good-night to her father, trusting to his coming to her there for a few moment's chat, as he almost always did.

But he had not come, and she felt sorely disappointed.

It was a beautiful, luxuriously furnished room, this bed chamber of hers--the view from its windows, a lovely one of carefully kept grounds, cultivated fields, woods, and streams; all looking their loveliest just now as seen by the silver light of the moon, which shone in upon her through rich lace curtains, gently wafted to and fro by the summer breeze as it came in laden with the sweet scent of flowers from the garden below.
"What a sweet, lovely home I have! Oh, how much to be thankful for! good health, kind friends, and such a dear father!" she said half aloud; "but I want a good-night kiss and a word or two of fatherly affection, and it does seem as if I can't go to sleep without it.

Oh, dear! can it be that he is displeased with me about anything?
I am not conscious of having done anything he would disapprove." "Nor have you, so far as I know, daughter mine," said a pleasant voice close at her side, while a hand was laid tenderly on her head.
"Oh, papa!" she cried joyously, starting up to a sitting posture as she spoke.