“Papa might have taken an interest in you, without making himself known to you,” suggested Neva, after a brief pause. “Some act of yours might have made your name known to him, and he might secretly have watched your course without betraying to you his interest in you, might he not?” “He might,” said Rufus huskily. “I can explain the matter in no other way. It is singular. Perhaps poor papa might not have well known what he was writing, but the letter is so clearly written that that idea is not tenable. After all, so long as he wrote the letter, what does it matter?” said Neva wearily. “He must have known you, Rufus--or else the letter was forged!” Rufus averted his face, upon which a cold sweat was starting. “Who would have forged it?” he asked hoarsely. “That I do not know. I know no one base enough for such a deed. It could not have been forged, of course, Rufus, but the discrepancy between your statement and that in the letter makes me naturally doubt. Papa was the most truthful of men. He hated a lie, and was so punctilious in regard to the truth that he was always painfully exact in his statements. He trained me to scorn a lie, and was even particular about the slightest error in repeating a story. How then could he speak of knowing you? Perhaps, though, I am mistaken. I may find, on referring to the letter, that he speaks of liking you and taking an interest in you, without alluding to a personal acquaintance.” “If I had known Sir Harold, I should have tried to deserve his good opinion,” said Rufus, his voice trembling. “I have the greatest reverence for his character, and I wish I might be like him.” “There are few like papa,” said Neva, a sudden glow transfiguring her face. “How you loved him, Neva. If I had had such a father!” and Rufus sighed. “I would rather have an honorable, affectionate father whom I could revere and trust than to have a million of money!” Neva reached out her hand in sympathy, and the young man seized it eagerly, clinging to it. “Neva,” he exclaimed, with a sudden energy of passion, “it is more than a month since I asked you to be my wife, and you have not yet given me my answer. Will you give it to me now?” The girl withdrew her hand gently, and rested her cheek again on her hand. “I know I am not worthy of you,” said Rufus, beseechingly. “I am poor in fortune, weak of character, a piece of drift-wood blown hither and thither by adverse winds, and likely to be tossed on a rocky shore at last, if you do not have pity upon me. Neva, such as I am, I beseech you to save me!” “I am powerless to save any one,” said Neva gently. “Your help must come from above, Rufus.”