He seemed to have forgotten her presence, as with clenched hands and wildly staring eyes he paced up and down, muttering bitter phrases to himself. Irene caught the echo of some passionate words quoted in a voice of raging scorn: "Falser than all fancy fathoms, Falser than all songs have sung, Puppet to a father's threat, And servile to a shrewish tongue." Suddenly he stopped in his wild march, and came back to her side. "No, child, keep your secret," he said, hoarsely. "Keep your secret, and I will keep mine. God help you if yours be as hard to bear as mine." She must have pitied the dreary despair of his face and voice if her heart had not been hardened against him by her terrible suspicions. A hard, scornful laugh broke over her lips. "Remorse is always hard to bear," she said, bitterly, to herself. He looked at her in wonder. "We will keep our own sad secrets," he repeated, mournfully. "But you are friendless. I will be your friend. You are homeless. My home shall be yours. You are nameless. You shall be Lilia's sister, and share her name. It is a noble one, and has never been stained by disgrace." She looked at him gravely, fixedly. Did he speak the truth? Did not her mother's shame and hers lie at his door? "Do you accept my proposition?" he inquired, anxiously. For a moment she was tempted to give him an angry passionate denial, to say bitterly: "No, I will not have these things on sufferance that should be mine by right. I will not have your favor or your pity, you demon, who blasted my mother's life and mine! I could rather curse you!" But on a sudden she remembered that her suspicions were merely suspicions. She had no proof that this noble-looking man, who seemed crushed by the weight of some inward sorrow, was her father. Perhaps she wronged him in her thoughts. "I must give him the benefit of the doubt, since he saved my life," she thought, and put out a cold, little hand to him. "I must perforce accept your kindness," she said, mournfully, "since I have not a friend to turn to in all the wide, wide world." He crushed the slender fingers in his firm clasp. "I will be your friend, always--remember that," he said. Irene would have thanked him feebly, but the saloon door hastily unclosed, admitting Lilia and her faded, peevish-looking mother. "You here, Clarence!" exclaimed the latter, in a tone of marked displeasure. He gave her a quick, cold look. Her eyes fell before it. Cowed by her husband's superior will, she vented her spite on Irene. "Lilia has been telling me that you threw yourself into the water," she said, flashing her eyes full of greenish rage on the pale young girl. "Oh, you wicked, wicked girl!" "Madam!" exclaimed Irene, in a proud and haughty tone. Mr. Stuart advanced, and drew his wife's arm through his own. "Come with me, Mrs. Stuart, I want you," he said, leading her deliberately from the room.