‘O yes, Barbara!’ His voice shook, and he raised his white hands to cover his eyes. ‘Even more beautiful.’ ‘And you loved her with all your heart?’ ‘I have never ceased to love her. It is that, Barbara, which’—he put his hands to his head, and she understood him—which disturbed his brain. ‘But,’ he said, suddenly as waking from a dream, ‘Barbara, how do you know all this? Who told you?’ She did not answer him, but she rose, knelt on the stool, put her arms round his neck, and kissed him. Her cheeks were wet. ‘You are crying, Barbara.’ ‘I am thinking of your sorrows, dear papa.’ She was still kneeling on one knee, with her arms round her father. ‘Poor papa! I want to know really what became of Eve’s mother.’ The door was thrown open. ‘Yes; that is what I have come to ask,’ said Jasper, entering the room, holding a wax candle in each hand. He had intercepted the maid, Jane, with the candles, taken them from her, and as she opened the door entered, to hear Barbara’s question. The girl turned, dropped one arm, but clung with the other to her father, who had just placed one of his hands on her head. Her eyes, from having been so long in the dark, were very large. She was pale, and her cheeks glistened with tears. She was too astonished to recover herself at once, dazzled by the strong light; she could not see Jasper but she knew his voice. He put the candlesticks—they were of silver—on the table, shut the door behind him, and standing before Mr. Jordan with bowed head, his earnest eyes fixed on the old man’s face, he said again, ‘Yes, that is what I have come to ask. Where is Eve’s mother?’ No one spoke. Barbara recovered herself first; she rose from the stool, and stepped between her father and the steward. ‘It is not you,’ she said, ‘who have a right to ask questions. It is we who have to call you to account.’ ‘For what, Miss Jordan?’ He spoke to her with deference—a certain tone of reverence which never left him when addressing her. ‘You must give an account of yourself,’ she said. ‘I am just returned from Buckfastleigh,’ he answered. ‘And, pray, how is your father who was dying?’ she asked, with a curl of her lip and a quiver of contempt in her voice. ‘He is well,’ replied Jasper. ‘I was deceived about his sickness. He has not been ill. I was sent on a fool’s errand.’ ‘Then,’ said Mr. Jordan, who had recovered himself, ‘what about the money?’ ‘The recovery of that is as distant as ever, but also as certain.’ ‘Mr. Jasper Babb,’ exclaimed Ignatius Jordan, ‘you have not been to Buckfastleigh at all. You have not seen your father; you have deceived me with——’ Barbara hastily interrupted him, saying with beating heart, and with colour rising to her pale checks, ‘I pray you, I pray you, say no more. We know very well that you have not left this neighbourhood.’ ‘I do not understand you, Miss Jordan. I am but just returned. My horse is not yet unsaddled.’