“I acknowledge your authority as the highest of any on earth, and I will yield you cheerful obedience in all that is right—beyond that I cannot go, I _will_ not go. I have reached an age where I am capable of judging for myself upon all moral questions, and I must exercise that judgment.” “This is a point of business, upon which you set aside my wishes and my authority,” he said, moodily, and his eyes wavering uneasily beneath her steady gaze. “It involves the principles of right and wrong also. I promised that Earle Wayne should have this money, and if you will not let me give it to him now, I shall pay it to him, as I said, a year from now, with interest.” He knew she meant it, and, in his passion, he half raised his clenched hand as if to strike her. But the soft blue eyes, with the keen pain in them, disarmed him, and it dropped heavily back upon the arm of his chair. “Oh, papa,” she said, her voice full of unshed tears, “why need we disagree upon so slight a thing?” “Do you call a matter involving ten thousand dollars a slight thing?” he asked, with a sneer. “Yes, in comparison with what will remain, my father,” laying her hand softly on his shoulder and pleading in tones that ought to have melted a harder heart. “Let us do what is right; let us be friends and united in heart, instead of growing so widely apart as we have been during the past year or two.” “You will not yield to me.” “In all that is right, I shall be only too glad to,” she answered, with a heavy sigh. “But you persist in giving this money to that——” “_I must._ That is settled,” she interrupted, firmly, and to prevent the utterance of some obnoxious word, she knew not what. “Never—_never!_ Do you think I would let you give it to him—_him_ of all others in the world?” Edith regarded him in surprise at these excited words. They seemed to imply a deadly hatred for which she could not account, knowing that Earle had never done her father any injury. “A thief—a robber—a criminal!” he added, noticing her look, and having no desire to have her inquire into the real nature of his hatred. “Earle never was either of those,” she said, proudly. “No matter; he has suffered the disgrace of them all, and there can be no peace between you and me until you promise to yield to me.” “I cannot in this instance.” “Then the consequences be upon your own head. I’ll try and have patience with you until the year is out; then, if you defy me, I’ll make you rue it. Go!” and he pointed impatiently toward the door. Without a word, Editha glided from the room, her heart heavy and sore. Soon after she heard him leave the house, and ten minutes later there came a ring at the door that, spite of her pain, sent the rosy blood leaping to her very brow, in a burning tide, and made her heart leap like a frightened bird in her bosom. “Earle has come,” she murmured, as she sat listening for the servant to come to summon her, and trying to still her throbbing nerves.