Cynthia had, as Sabina suspected, gone straight to her father when she left Russell Square. Some time before he had let her know that he was still in England, and had sent her his address, warning her however not to visit him unless she was obliged to do so. On this occasion she had almost forgotten his warning; she went to him as a child often goes to its parents, more for comfort than for absolute protection; and he was astonished, as well as alarmed, when she flung herself into his arms and wept on his shoulder, calling him now and then by all sorts of endearing names, but refusing to explain to him the reason of her visit or of her grief. "It's not that man that you're fond of, is it, my dearie? He hasn't played you false, has he?" "No, father, no--not in the way you mean." "He ain't worse--dying or anything?" "Oh, no!"--with a sudden constriction of the heart, which might have told her how dear Hubert was to her still. "Then you've quarrelled?" "I suppose we have," said Cynthia, with an unnatural hysterical laugh. "Oh, yes--we have quarrelled, and we shall never see each other any more!" "In that case, my girl, you'd better cast in your lot with me. Shall we leave England to-morrow?" Cynthia was silent for a moment. "Is it safer for you to go or to stay, father?" "Well, it's about equal," said Westwood cheerfully. "They're watching the ports, I understand; so maybe I should have a difficulty in getting off. On the other hand, I'm pretty certain that the landlady here suspects me; and I thought of making tracks early to-morrow morning, Cynthia, my dear, if you have no objection to an early start." "Anything you please, dear father." "We're safest in London, I think," said Westwood thoughtfully; "but I think that I shall try to get out of the country as soon as I can. I am afraid it is no good to follow up my clue, Cynthia; I can't find out anything more about Mrs. Vane." Cynthia gave a little shiver, and then clung to him helplessly; she could not speak. "I've sometimes thought," her father continued, "that your young man--Mr. Lepel--knew more than he chose to say. I've sometimes wondered whether--knowing me to be your father and all that, Cynthia--there might not be a chance of getting him to tell all the truth, supposing that I went to him and threw myself on his--his generosity, so to speak? Do you think he'd give me up, Cynthy?" "No, father--I don't think he would." "It might be worth trying. A bold stroke succeeds sometimes where a timid one might fail. He's ill, you say, still, isn't he?" Cynthia thought of the fall that she had heard as she left the room. "Yes," she answered almost inaudibly; "he has been very ill, and he is not strong yet." "And you've left him all the same?" said her father, regarding her curiously. "There must have been something serious--eh, my lass?" "Oh, father, don't ask me!" "Don't you care for him now then, my girl?" said Westwood, with more tenderness than he usually showed.