She held out her hand to me; I did not touch it. "Pain my father must bear," I said; "but I will endeavour to save him from a deep disgrace." "I am not disgracing him now!" she cried. "Indeed, indeed I am not!" I tried to what depths the nature of this woman would descend. "When did you see Mr. Pelham last?" I asked. "I have not seen him for months--for many, many months! He has left the country, never to return. I hope he is dead--with all my heart I hope he is dead! He is the cause of all my misery. I told him so, and refused ever to see him again. He was in despair, and he left me for ever. I prayed with thankfulness--on my knees I prayed--when he said good-bye! He is thousands of miles away." I gazed at her steadily. "It is not true," I said; "you met him by appointment this very morning." [Decoration] CHAPTER XXVIII. FREDERICK HOLDFAST'S STATEMENT (CONTINUED). All the colour died out of her face, and I saw that I had frightened her. "How do you know?" she asked, in a faint tone. "That is my secret," I replied. "It should be sufficient for you that I do know, and that I have evidence at hand for a full exposure of your proceedings." "Your own evidence will not be strong enough," she said. "Hating me as you do, you can invent any wicked story you please--it does not require a very clever man to do things of that kind. It has been done over and over again, and the question then is, whose word has the greatest influence? My husband will take my word against yours; I promise you that." "I am aware of the power you have over him, and I am prepared." "In what way are you prepared?" "Shall I tell you how many cabs you took this morning, and their numbers?" "You cannot do it." "I can; and I can tell you, moreover, where you engaged and where you discharged them; and what shops you went to and how long you were in each. When I relate your wretched story to my father I shall be able to verify every detail of the accusation I shall bring against you." "You have had me watched!" she cried. "It was necessary. You are a clever woman." (Even in this terrible crisis of her fate, the vanity of this creature, unparalleled in wickedness, asserted itself, and an expression of gratification passed into her face as I called her a clever woman.) "My father's nature in some respects resembles Sydney's, and especially in its loyalty to love and friendship. Upon Sydney no impression could be made against any person in whom he had confidence, unless the most distinct proof could be produced--the evidence of his own senses or of witnesses upon whom he could implicitly rely. So would it be with my father. On my honour, you can no longer live in this house. I cannot permit you for another day to impose upon a gentleman whom I love and honour."