See him now. He and Minnie have been sitting together for hours. He has been strangely stern and strangely tender to her in turns, but she is used to his wayward moods. He has detained her by his side all the morning, upon one and another idle pretext; and she, as if wishful to please him, has humored him, and been wonderfully submissive and obedient. But once she had fallen into a reverie--not a happy one--and he had broken it by asking her in a harsh voice what she was dreaming about. She replied only by a startled look, and resumed her work, which had been lying idly in her lap. Repentant of his harshness, he turned his head from her to hide the sudden spasm which passed into his face. "Are you ill?" she asked. "No, dear child." "In pain?" "No, dear child." Presently she put aside her work, and rose to leave the room. "Where are you going?" he asked in a strangely anxious voice. "To see Mrs. Marvel," was her answer. "Sit you down," he cried sternly. She hesitated and lingered by the door, beating the ground with her foot irresolutely. Seeing that, he grasped her wrist firmly, and hurt her without intending to do so. The muscles of her face quivered, but not from the pain. "O Minnie, my child!" he cried; then, releasing her, "have I hurt you?" "No," she answered in a hard voice. "Why do you not wish me to go to Mrs. Marvel's house? You have forbidden me before." "You trouble them too much." "That is not your reason, father," she said in the same hard voice. "You are hiding something from me." "Are you not hiding something from me, Minnie?" he asked, looking anxiously into her face. "What should I hide from you?" she asked, in reply, coldly and evasively. "I am not well, father. I can't stop in this room. I will not go where you do not wish me." He did not detain her, and she glided swiftly out of the room. He was about to follow her, when a dizziness came upon him, and he sank into a chair. It was only by a strong effort of will that he kept himself from fainting. "My strength is deserting me," he muttered, his breath coming thick and fast; "scarcely a day passes but this weakness comes upon me." He held up his hand; it trembled like a leaf. "Have I failed in my duty to her? Is it my fault that she does not confide in me? Or is this a wicked lie?" He took a letter from his pocket and read it, not once, but many times. "No," he groaned; "it is true. I feel that it is true." He rose to his feet and felt like one just risen from a sick bed. He was as weak as a child; so weak, indeed, that the consciousness of his weakness brought tears into his eyes; and he said in a voice of anguish, "Now, when my child's happiness--her honor, perhaps--depends upon my watchful care, I am helpless. If I had some one that I could trust some one to help me!" He heard a step upon the stairs. It was like an answer to his wish. "It is Susan," he muttered; "the one being that I know in the world who would serve me faithfully, Susan, Susan!"