And then, according to the regular female rule in cases of difficulty of this kind, she sat down and began to cry; and as she cried, she called to mind that Mr. Skinwell had, more particularly of late, showed himself unusually kind to her, and more so, indeed, than she ought to suffer. Shortly afterwards Skinwell walked in. He had met Dr. Rowel in a part of the road which warranted some suspicion that the latter might have been up to his house, and accordingly he proceeded to question Fanny on the subject. After an awkward attempt or two to evade his inquiries, she at length declared, that he came only upon some business which related merely to herself, and therefore she could not explain it. “There is no occasion,” replied he, “to explain it to me. I know it well enough. That man is a scoundrel, Fanny,--worse by ten times ten multiplied than anybody would imagine.” “The very thing,” thought she, “that the doctor said of you.” “Since so much has come out as this,” continued Skinwell, “and my plan is about ripe, I do not hesitate to say that that man has been the ruin of you and your family; and, but for him, you yourself would at this very time have been--there is no knowing--anything but what you are. Depend upon it, my dear, many a better man than Dr. Rowel has died in a hempen neckcloth.” The girl paid little regard to all this, for it was precisely the same as her friend the doctor had declared he _would_ say; and yet she felt doubtful which of the two to believe,--or were they not alike dishonest? Skinwell's profession had not left him so heedless an observer of human nature, as not to remark that, instead of his disclosures, as he conceived them to be, being received with astonishment and wonder, Fanny took comparatively little notice of them. However, he persevered,--“As you and the doctor are so intimate, then,” continued he, “of course he has told you something of your own history. Has he ever told you that you have a father living?” Fanny stood mute. “He never told you that?” the lawyer repeated. “Oh no!” exclaimed Fanny; “but if I truly have a father, do tell me where he is, and I will do anything in the world for you!” Now was the lawyer's time to make his proposals, which he did at some length, promising that, in case they were agreed to, he would tell her where her father was--he would liberate him from a dungeon worse than any prison, and recover for him and herself the property that was now unjustly withheld from them. Fanny hung her head and blushed, and felt as though she could laugh or cry, or do both perhaps together; but she could not speak. “Well,” continued Skinwell, “I know what you think,--it is natural enough. I admit that I am a little older than I was twenty years ago, and probably not quite so eyeable to look upon as when I paid more attention to personal appearances; but the time was when I had my day as well as others, and, in fact, was considered one of the best in Bramleigh.”