Now! Now, or never! The words she had so often repeated to herself rang in her ears. “Do you know who it was,” she said, “who saved you that night, sir? The night you were—hurt?” He turned himself a little more towards her. “Who? Who it was?” he repeated. “What art talking about, girl? Why, the lad, to be sure. Who else?” “No, sir,” she said, shaking from head to foot, so that the table rocked audibly under her hand. “It was Mr. Ovington’s son. And—and I love him. And he wishes to marry me.” The Squire did not say a word. He sat, his head erect still as a stone. “And I want—to help him,” she added, her voice dying away with the words. Her knees were so weak, that but for the support of the table she must have sunk on the floor. Still the Squire did not speak. His jaw had fallen. He sat, arrested in the attitude of listening, his face partly turned from her, his pipe held stiffly in his hand. At last, “Ovington’s son wants to marry you?” he repeated, in a tone so even that it might have deceived many. “He saved your life!” she cried. She clung desperately to that. “And you love him?” “Oh, I do! I do!” He paused as if he still listened, still expected more. Then in a low voice, “The girl is mad,” he muttered. “My God, the girl is mad! Or I am mad! Blind and mad, like the old king! Ay, blind and mad!” He let the pipe fall from his hand to the floor, and he groped for his stick that he might rap and summon assistance. But in his agitation he could not find the stick. Then, as he still felt for it with a flurried hand, nature or despair prompted her, and the girl who had never caressed him in her life, never taken a liberty with him, never ventured on the smallest familiarity, never gone beyond the morning and evening kiss, timidly given and frigidly received, sank on the floor and clasped his knees, pressed herself against him. “Oh, father, father! I am not mad,” she cried, “I am not mad. Hear me! Oh, hear me!” A pause, and then, “I have deceived you, I am not worthy, but you are my father! I have only, only you, who can help me! Have mercy on me, for I do love him. I do love him! I——” Her voice failed her, but she continued to cling to him, to press her head against his body, mutely to implore him, and plead with him. “My God!” he ejaculated. He sat upright, stiff, looking before him with sightless eyes; as far as he could withholding himself from her, but not actively repelling her. After an interval, “Tell me,” he muttered.