But he demanded to see her at a distance, himself unseen, and this was arranged.  He provided himself with a powerful binocular of the kind that is now used at sea, instead of the unwieldy old telescope, and the little girl was paraded by the nurse, who was in the secret.  She played about in the sight of this strange spy.  She was plump, she was rosy, she was full of life and spirit.  Joy filled the father’s heart; but then came a bitter pang to think that he had faded out of her joyous life; by-and-by he could see her no longer, for a mist came from his heart to his eyes; he bowed his head and went back to his business, his prosperity, and his solitude.  These experiments were repeated at times.  Moreover, Bartley had the tact never to write to him on business without telling him something about his girl, her clever sayings, her pretty ways, her quickness at learning from all her teachers, and so on.  When she was eight years old a foreign agent was required in Bartley’s business, and Hope agreed to start this agency and keep it going till some more ordinary person could be intrusted to work it.

But he refused to leave England without seeing his daughter with his own eyes and hearing her voice.  However, still faithful to his pledge, he prepared a disguise; he actually grew a mustache and beard for this tender motive only, and changed his whole style of dress; he wore a crimson neck-tie and dark green gloves with a plaid suit, which combination he abhorred as a painter, and our respected readers abominate, for surely it was some such perverse combination that made a French dressmaker lift her hands to heaven and say, “Quelle immoralite!” So then Bartley himself took his little girl for a walk, and met Mr. Hope in an appointed spot not far from his own house.  Poor Hope saw them coming, and his heart beat high.  “Ah!” said Bartley, feigning surprise; “why, it’s Mr. Hope.  How do you do, Hope?  This is my little girl.  Mary, my dear, this is an old friend of mine.  Give him your hand.”

The girl looked in Hope’s face, and gave him her hand, and did not recognize him.

“Fine girl for her years, isn’t she?” said Bartley.  “Healthy and strong, and quick at her lessons; and, what’s better still, she is a good girl, a very good girl.”

“Papa!” said the child, blushing, and hid her face behind Bartley’s elbow, all but one eye, with which she watched the effect of these eulogies upon the strange gentleman.

“She is all a father could wish,” said Hope, tenderly.

Instantly the girl started from her position, and stood wrapt in thought; her beautiful eyes wore a strange look of dreamy intelligence, and both men could see she was searching the past for that voice.