"Kit, Kit, recall that speech! You must have gone altogether dreaming lately. My discourse is always moderate, and to the last degree professional. However, in spite of the generous impulse, which scarcely seems natural at your threescore years and ten, it does seem a needful precaution to learn the name, style, and title of the lady whom you will vow to love, honour, and--obey." "Her name," cried Kit, without any sense of legal phrase and jingle, "is Grace Holland. Her style is a great deal better than anybody else's. And as for title, such rubbish is unknown in the gigantic young nation to which she belongs." "Her name," said Mr. Sharp, setting his face for the conquest of this boy, and fixing keen hard eyes upon him, "is Grace Oglander, the daughter of the old Squire of Beckley. Her style--in your sense of the word--is that of a rustic young lady; and her title, by courtesy, is Miss--a barbarous modern abbreviation." The youth was at first too much amazed to say a word; for he was not quick-witted, as his father was. He gave a little gasp, and his fine brown eyes, which he could not remove from his father's, changed their expression from defiance to doubt, and from doubt to fear, and from fear to sorrow, with a little dawning of contempt. "Why, my man, is this beyond your experience of life?" asked Luke Sharp, trying to look his son down, but failing, and beginning to grow uneasy. Kit's face was aflame with excitement, and his lips were trembling; but his eyes grew stern. "Father, I hope you do not mean what you have said--that you are only joking with me--at any rate, that you have not known it--that you have not done it--that you have not even left poor old Mr. Oglander one hour----" "Wait, boy, wait! You know nothing about it. Who are you to judge of such matters, indeed? Remember to whom you are speaking, if you please. I have done what was right; and for your sake I have done it." "For my sake! Why, I never had seen the young lady before I was told that she was dead and buried--murdered, as everybody said--and the tracing of the criminals was mainly left to you! I longed to help, but I knew that you despised me; and now do you mean to say that you did it?" Luke Sharp was a quick-tempered man. He had borne a great deal more than usual. And now he spoke with vast disdain. "To be sure, Kit, I murdered her; as is proved to such a mind as yours by the fact of her being now alive! What can I have done to have a fool for my son?" "And what have I done to have a rogue for a father? You may knock me down, sir, if you please!"--for Mr. Sharp arose, as if that would be his next proceeding;--"you have always used your authority very much in that manner with me. I don't want to be knocked down; but if it will do you any good, pray proceed to it; and down I go."