In this moment of dismay Carrie’s heart had turned to her father, as the needle turns to the north, with a tenacity of trustfulness that a thousand quarrels would never shake. Here, if anywhere, lay her help, her comfort. She alighted at the door of her old home and passed in without waiting to inquire of Patty whether her father was at home or no. Her trouble would be her passport; she made sure of welcome now, if it had been refused to her in her prosperity. The dusk had fallen, but firelight lit up the room as Carrie entered; it shone brightly on the polished panelling of the walls with rosy reflection. Sebastian had just come in; he stood beside the fire; his great figure in the half light seemed to fill the little room. Carrie ran towards him with her arms outstretched and a cry of joy; the sight of him came to her in her distress like the very peace of heaven. ‘Save him! save him, dada!’ she cried, turning back in her extremity to her childish speech. ‘Eh, my poor Carrie!—so trouble hath come to you,’ said Sebastian, ‘and so you are come to me.’ He paused, and looked curiously at his daughter as he spoke. Carrie had changed so much since they parted; in her splendid raiment, her jewels and her laces, she looked such a great lady that Sebastian scarcely recognised her. But Carrie was oblivious of everything, save the one thing at her heart. She caught both Sebastian’s hands in hers, and cried again and again, ‘Save him, dada! Oh, sir, they’re going to hang him—to hang my Philip; he’ll hang ere the month is out if you do not save him.’ Sebastian sat down and Carrie knelt beside him; there was no word of dispute between them now; she gazed up into his face in an agony of entreaty, an ecstasy of confidence. ‘I feared ’twould go badly from the first,’ said Sebastian. ‘Have you seen your husband, Carrie, since the sentence?’ ‘Yes, this afternoon. Oh, sir, ’tis impossible that Phil can die.’ ‘And what doth he say—how explain this murder to you—to his wife?’ asked Sebastian curiously. ‘He says Simon Prior—(a man, sir, that I always hated, a man I made Phil quarrel with not long ago)—he says Simon Prior must have done it, else he can offer no explanation.’ ‘And you—do you not think your husband did it, Carrie?’ Carrie drew back from her father for a moment in horror. ‘Sir!’ she began—but added a moment later—‘but that is because you do not know Phil.’ ‘Carrie,’ said Sebastian, leaning forward to take her hand in his, ‘tell me, my child, my joy, the better part of life for me—tell me, are you as happy with Philip as you thought to be? do you love him as first you did? for youthful passions are hot, and many a time burn themselves out.’ ‘I love him more a thousand times than when first I loved.’ ‘And you believe no ill of him?’ ‘As soon I would believe it of you, sir.’ Sebastian rose and began to pace up and down the room. ‘Have they tried for a reprieve, Carrie?’ ‘Vainly, sir.’