“‘Papa, I cannot hear you say all this, in which you are so wrong. No tool am I of any body! Twice have you said this thing!’ Her figure the Earl perceived involuntarily becoming erect as she spoke, and her eye fixed with steadfast brightness upon his. Had he been sufficiently calm and observant, he might have seen in his daughter at that moment a faint reflection of his own lofty spirit—intolerant of injustice. ‘And even you, papa, have no right whatever thus to talk to me. If I have done wrong, chide me becomingly; but all that you have said to me only hurts me, and stings me, and I cannot submit to it—’ “‘Lady Emily, to your chamber!’ said the Earl, with a stately air, rising; so did his daughter. “‘My Lord!’ she exclaimed magnificently, her tall figure drawn up to its full height, and her lustrous eyes fixed unwavering upon his own. Neither spoke for a moment; and the Earl began, he knew not why, to feel great inward agitation, as he gazed at the erect figure of his silent and indignant daughter. “‘My child!’ said he, at length, faintly, with a quivering lip; and extending his arms, he moved a step towards her; on which she sprang forward into his arms, throwing her own about his neck, and kissing his cheek passionately. His strong will for once had failed him; his full eyes overflowed, and a tear fell on his daughter’s forehead. She wept bitterly; for a while he spoke not, but gently led her to a couch, and sat down beside her. “‘Oh, papa, papa!’ she murmured, ‘how I love you!’ “For a moment he answered not, struggling, and with partial success, to overcome the violence of his emotions. Then he spoke in a low deep tone— “‘The voices of the dead are sounding in my ears, Emily! the tranquil dead! ’Tis said, my Emily,’ he paused for some moments, and his agitation was prodigious,—‘that stern was I to your sweet mother—’ “‘Oh, dear, dearest, best beloved by daughter, never!’ she cried vehemently, struggling to escape from his grasp, for beheld her rigidly while gazing at her with agonised eyes. “‘And I now fearfully feel—I fear—that stern I was, as stern I have this day been to you. Forgive me, ye meek and blessed dead!‘—his quivering lips were, closed for a moment, as were his eyes. ‘Oh, Emily! she is looking at me through your eyes. Oh, how like!’ he remarked, as if speaking to himself. Lady Emily covered her eyes, and buried her head in his bosom. ‘Do you, my Emily, forgive me?’ “‘Oh, papa! no, no; what have I to forgive? Every thing have I to love! my own, sweet papa! Much I fear that I may have done what a daughter ought not to have done! I have grieved and wounded a father that tenderly loved me—’