“Go on with what?” cried he, rudely. “I've told you everything. You wanted to know what I was, and how I made my living. Well, you know it all now. To be sure, the newspapers, if you read them, could give you more precise details; but there's one thing, girl, they could n't blink,--there's not one of them could say that what my head planned overnight my hand was not ready to defend in the morning! I can't always throw a main, but I 'll hit my man,--and at five-and-thirty paces, if he don't like to stand closer.” “And what led you to this life, papa? Was it choice?” “I have told you enough already; too much, mayhap,” said he, doggedly. “Question me no more!” Had Davis but seen the face of her at his side, what a terrible shock it would have given him, hard and stern as he was! She was pale as marble,--even the lips were colorless; while along her cheeks a heavy tear stole slowly along. It was the only one she shed, but it cost an agony. “And this is the awaking from that glorious dream I have long been lost in?--this the explanation of that life of costly extravagance, where every wish was answered, every taste pampered. This is the reverse of that medal which represented me as noble by birth and high in station!” If these were the first bitter thoughts that crossed her mind, her next were to ask herself why it was that the tidings had not humiliated her more deeply. “How is it that while I see and hear all this,” cried she, “I listen in a spirit of defiance, not defeat? Is it that in my heart I dare to arraign the decrees the world has adopted for its guidance? Do I presume to believe that I can play the rebel successfully against the haughtiest aristocracy of Europe?--There is yet one question, papa,” said she, slowly and deliberately, “that I would wish to ask you. It is the last I will ever put, leaving to your own discretion to answer it or not. Why was it--I mean, with what object did you place me where by habit and education I should contract ideas of life so widely different from those I was born to?” “Can't you guess?” said he, rudely. “Mayhap I do guess the reason,” said she, in a low but unbroken voice. “I remember your saying one night to Mr. Beecher, 'When a colt has a turn of speed, he 's always worth the training.'” Davis grew crimson; his very ears tingled as the blood mounted to his head. Was it shame, was it anger, was it a strange pride to see the traits of his own heart thus reflected on his child, or was it a blending of all three together? At all events, he never uttered a word, but walked slowly along at her side. A low faint sigh from Lizzy suddenly aroused him, and he said, “Are you ill,--are you tired, girl?” “I 'd like to go back to the house,” said she, calmly but weakly. He turned without a word, and they walked on towards the inn. “When I proposed this walk, Lizzy, I never meant it to have been so sad a one.” “Nor yours the fault if it is so,” said she, drearily.