"You are mistaken, dear father," said she. "I am wonderfully strong and healthy; I never fainted away in my life, and my mind will not let me rest at present--I have been longing so for my father." "Ah, precious word!" murmured Hope. "Keep saying that word to me, darling. Oh, the years that I have pined for it!" "Dear father, we will make up for all those years. Oh, papa, let us not part again, never, never, not even for a day." "My child, we never will. What am I saying? I shall have to give you back to one who has a stronger claim than I--to your husband." "My husband?" said Mary, turning pale. "Yes," said Hope; "for you know you have a husband. Oh, I heard a few words there before I interfered; but it is not to me you'll say '_I don't know_.' That was good enough for Bartley and a lot of strangers. Come, Grace dear, take my arm; have no concealments from me. Trust to a father's infinite love, even if you have been imprudent or betrayed; but that's a thing I shall never believe except from your lips. Take a turn with me, my child, since you can not lie down and rest; a little air, and gentle movement on your father's arm, and close to your father's heart, will be the next best thing for you." Then they walked to and fro like lovers. "Why, Grace, my child," said he, "of course I understand it all. No doubt you promised to keep your marriage secret, or had some powerful reason for withholding it from strangers; and, indeed, why should you reveal such a secret to insolence or to mere curiosity. But you will tell the truth to me, your father and your best friend; you will tell me you are a wife." "Father," said Mary, trembling, and her eyes roved as if she was looking out for the means of flight. Hope saw this look, and it made him sick at heart, for he had lived too long, and observed too keenly, not to know that innocence and purity are dangers, and are more often protected by the safeguards of society than by themselves. "Oh, my child," said he, "anything is better than this suspense; why do you not answer me? Why do you torture me? Are you Walter Clifford's wife?" Mary began to pant and sob. "Oh papa, have patience with me. You do not know the danger. Wait till he comes back. I dare not; I can not." "Then, by Heaven, he shall!" He dropped her arm, and his countenance became terrible. She clung to him directly. "No, no; wait till I have seen him. He will be back this very evening. Do not judge hastily; and oh, papa, as you love your child, do not act rashly." "I shall act firmly," was Hope's firm reply. "You have come from a sham father to a real one, and you will be protected as well as loved. This lover has forbidden you to confide in your father (he did not know that I was your father, but that makes no difference); it looks very ugly, and if he has wronged you he shall do you justice, or I will have his life." "Oh, papa," screamed Mary, "his life? Why, mine is bound up with it."