"Ah! don't give me excuses," he said; "I'm an old man who knows the world, and won't believe in them. I wouldn't believe in my own daughter, if she acted as you have done, or was ever so ready at excuses. No honest girl--I'm sorry to say it, Mattie--would ever, without a fair reason, be walking the streets, friendless and alone, at such unnatural hours." "Will you not believe me, when I tell you truly, without a blush in my face, that as God's my judge, I went out with a motive of which even you would approve." "What was it?" "I--I cannot tell you that yet. Presently, perhaps--if you will only give me time--not now." Mr. Wesden shook his head. "Mattie," he replied, "it won't do! It isn't what I've been used to, and I can't wait till you have invented a story and----" "Invented!" shrieked Mattie, leaping to her feet, "what more!--what more have you to charge an innocent girl, who has thought of nothing but serving you honestly from the time you took pity on her wretchedness? You have turned against me; if you are tired of me, tell me so plainly--but don't talk as if I were a liar and a thief still--I will not have it!" "You put a bold face upon it, and that's a bad sign," said Mr. Wesden; "where there's no shame, only _bounce_, it takes away all the pity of the thing, and makes me firmer." The table creaked once more with the extra pressure of his hands; the flush died away from the face, whereon settled an expression more steely and invulnerable. "Oh! sir--how you have altered! What do you think that I have done!" cried the perplexed Mattie. "See here," said Mr. Wesden; "I don't wish to rake up everything, but as you put it to me, I'll just show you how foolish it is to brave it out like this. I'm very sorry; I can't make it out, altering for the better as you had--it's bad company, I suppose. First," he removed his hands from the table, and began checking off the items on his fingers, "there's money missing up-stairs--a cash-box opened, and only----" "My God!--has that thought rankled so long?" interrupted Mattie; "I don't wonder at the rest, if you begin like that with me. I'll go away--I'll go away!" "It didn't rankle--I gave you the benefit of the doubt," said Mr. Wesden; "I wouldn't believe it, but I fancied that you were altering, and that something was wrong somewhere. It looked at least as if you were careless, and I thought the house might get robbed, or catch fire, or anything after that--and it disturbed my mind much; I couldn't sleep for thinking of you--and one night I came over here very late, and you were up talking and laughing with a young man in the shop, in the dead of night." "That, too!" cried Mattie; "do you suspect _him_?" "I suspected _you_, that's enough to say just now." "More than enough!" was the bitter answer.