Terrible conflict was it between father and child! between two natures each proud as the other,--each bold, stern, and unforgiving! “The date of this event?” asked he, as she concluded. “The ninth of October.” “Where?” “At a chapel in Cullenswood Avenue.” “Who witnessed it?” “Raper.” “Any other?” “No other.” “The ninth of October fell on a Tuesday; it was then, or the day after, that I gave you a diamond clasp, a present?” “It was.” “Who performed this ceremony?” “A priest, but I am not at liberty to tell his name,--at least, without the assurance of your forgiveness.” “Then do not tell it! The man is still living?” “I believe so.” “And your husband,--where is he?” “In the city. He is waiting but to be received by you ere he return to France to arrange his affairs in that country.” “He need not long delay his departure, then: tell him so.” “You forgive us, then?” cried she, almost bursting with gratitude. “No!--never!” “Not forgive us!--not acknowledge us!” “Never! never!” reiterated he, with a thick utterance that sounded like the very concentration of passion. The words seemed to have a spell in them to conjure up a feeling in her who heard, as deeply powerful as in him who spoke them. “Am I no longer your daughter, sir?” asked she, rising and drawing herself to her full height before him. “You are a Countess, madam,” said he, with a scornful irony; “I am but an humble man, of obscure station and low habits. I know nothing of nobility, nor of its ways.” “I ask again, do you disown me?” said she, with a voice as calm and collected as his own. “For ever and ever,” said he, waving his hand, as though the gesture was to be one of adieu. “You are mine no longer,--you had ceased to be so ere I knew it. Go to your home, if you have one; here, you are but an intruder,--unasked, unwished for!” “Bitter words to part with! but hear me, sir. He who has joined his lot to mine should not pay the penalty of my fault. Against him you can bear no malice; he at least does not merit the reproach you have cast on me. Will you see him,--may he speak with you?” “Whenever he pleases,--provided it be but once. I will not be importuned.” “You will bear in mind, sir, that he is a man of birth and station, and that to his ears words of insult are a stranger.” “I will treat him with all the deference I owe to his rank, and to the part he has performed towards myself,” said Fagan, slowly. “It were, perhaps, better, then, that you should not meet?” “It were, perhaps, better so!” “Good-bye, sir. I have no more to say.” “Good-bye, madam. Tell Raper I want to speak to him, as you pass out.”