Thus far I said--not thinking it just towards Max that I should plead merely for pity to be shewn to him or to me who loved him; but because it was the right and the truth, and as such, both for Max's honour and mine, I strove to put it clearly before my father. And then I gave way, pleading only as a daughter with her father, that he should blot out the past, and not for the sake of one long dead and gone break the heart of his living child. "Harry would not wish it--I am sure he would not. If Harry has gone where he, too, may find mercy for his many sins, I know that he has long ago forgiven my dear Max." My father, muttering something about "strange theology," sat thoughtful. It was some time before he spoke again. "There is one point of the subject you omit entirely. What will the world say? I, a clergyman, to sanction the marriage of my daughter with the man who took the life of my son? It is not possible." Then I grew bold:--"So, it is not the law of God, or justice, or nature, that keeps us asunder--but the world? Father, you have no right to part Max and me for fear of the world." When it was said, I repented myself of this. But it was too late. All his former hardness returned as he said:-- "I am aware that I have no legal right to forbid your marriage. You are of age: you may act, as you have all along acted, in defiance of your father." Never in defiance, nor even in secret disobedience and I reminded him how all things had been carried on--open and plain--from first to last; how patiently we had waited, and how, if Max were well and prosperous, I might still have said, "We will wait a little longer. Now--" "Well, and now?" I went down on my very knees, and with tears and sobs besought my father to let me be Max's wife. It was in vain. "Good night: go to your bed, Dora, and weary me no more." I rose, certain now that the time was come when I must choose between two duties--between father and husband; the one to whom I owed existence, the other to whose influence I owed everything that had made me a girl worth living, or worth loving. Such crises do come to poor souls!--God guide them, for He only can. "Good night, father"--my lips felt dry and stiff--it was scarcely my own voice that I heard, "I will wait--there are still a few days." He turned suddenly upon me. "What are you planning? Tell the truth." "I meant to do so." And then, briefly,--for each word came out with pain, as if it were a last breath,--I explained that Dr. Urquhart would have to leave for Canada in a month--that, if we had gained my father's consent, we intended to be married in three weeks, remain a week in England, and then sail. "And what if I do not give my consent?" I stopped a moment, and then strength came. "I must be Max's wife still. God gave us to one another, and God only shall put us asunder." After that, I remember nothing till I found myself lying in my own bed with Penelope beside me.