"You have said quite enough," continued Dick, calmly, "and you are going to listen to me now. But first, I want to beg your pardon for the language I used when you called on me before."--He heard a slight rustle in the next room--"when you accused me of taking your daughter from her home; I told you that you were a liar. I beg your pardon now. I was excited. I know that you were only mistaken. You would not have listened to me then, nor believed me, had I told you what I knew. But the time has come when you _shall_ listen, and be forced to know that I speak the truth." Adam sat as though fascinated. Once he attempted to answer, but a quick "Silence, sir, you _shall_ hear me," kept him still, while Dick detailed the whole story, omitting nothing from the evening when he had rescued Amy from her drunken escort, to the day he had said good-bye in the Ozark Mountains. When he had finished, the old gentleman sat silent for a moment. "Can it be possible," thought Dick, "that I have misjudged this man, and that he is grateful for the help that I have given Amy?" But no; Dick had not misjudged him. There was not a thought of gratitude in Adam Goodrich's heart. Thankfulness for his daughter's salvation from a life of sin had no part in his feelings; only blind rage, that his pride should be so humbled. Leaping to his feet, he shouted, "The proof, you miserable scoundrel; the proof, or I'll have your life for this." Dick remained perfectly calm. "You shall have the proof," he said, quietly, and turning, stepped to the next room, coming back an instant later with his arm encircling Amy's waist. Adam sprang forward. "You here at this hour alone? Go home at once. Drop her, you ruffian," turning to Dick. The latter stood without moving a muscle, and Goodrich started toward him. "Stop," said Dick, still without moving; and again the older man was forced to obey that stronger will. "Father," said Amy. "I am going to marry Mr. Falkner. I heard you and Frank talking in the library, and when you said that you would kill him I came to warn him, and--and--his story is every word true. Oh papa, don't you see what a friend he has been to me? You forced me to the society that ruined me, and he saved me from an awful life. I love him and will be his wife, but I can't be happy as I ought, without your forgiveness. Won't you forgive us papa?" Never in his life had it been Dick's lot to see a face express so much, or so many conflicting emotions, love, hate, pride, passion, remorse, gratitude, all followed each other in quick succession. But finally, pride and anger triumphed and the answer came; but in the expression of the man's face rather than in his words, Dick found the clue to his course.