"Ah, nivir ask me phwat I know," croaked Tim again. "There's whales within whales, me dear, an' me mouth's bin saled fur many a year. But whin his lardship spakes I spake, and thin ye'll be as happy as thim who dwell in Tirnanoge." "What's that, Tim?" "The land av youth where ye and Masther Garge shud be, an' will be, whin the blissid saints in glory let ye come into ye'r own." And after delivering himself of this agreeable prophecy, Tim shuffled away to prepare dinner. Lesbia was much astonished at the hints thus given, and also much perplexed. Tim seemed to know of the significance of the amethyst cross, of the rascality of her father, and also he appeared to know about Lord Charvington as a possible _deus ex machina_, who would make the crooked quite straight. Later in the evening she questioned the little man persistently, but Tim, as wily as an otter, evaded a direct reply, only insisting that everything would come right in a most unexpected way. With this Lesbia would scarcely have been content, but that her attention was taken away from the future to deal with the present. Urged by Tim, and now feeling more hopeful as she recalled Charvington's promise to stand by her, Lesbia made a moderately good dinner. While Tim was washing up in the kitchen, she sat near the window of the tiny parlour reading the first book that came to hand. But the pages did not interest her and, moreover, it soon grew too dark to read without lights. Lesbia did not call for these, as she liked the pensive twilight, and so dreamed of George and future happiness in the gloaming. There was just light enough to see across the room, so she started with surprise and indignation when she saw her father suddenly appear in the doorway. He looked much the same as usual, but then the light was not strong enough to permit her to see the shame which must certainly have appeared on his face. "Why have you come here?" asked Lesbia, rising indignantly. "I have assuredly a right to enter my own house," retorted her father. "It is not your house," she replied boldly. "Lord Charvington told me that it belonged to him, and declared that you would come here no more." "Ah!" Hale lounged into the room, and dropped with a sigh of fatigue into a chair. "Charvington proposed more than he could perform; he always did." "How did you come in?" "By the back door, which was open. I rowed up from Cookham." "You can't stop here," said Lesbia firmly. "You can't prevent me," said her father, with a sneer. "I can leave the house, and I will." "Where will you go?" "To Mrs. Walker; she will protect me. I will throw myself on her mercy. But I refuse to remain under the same roof as you." Hale winced at the scorn in her tones. "You seem to forget that you are speaking to your father," he said in an icy manner. "God help me!" cried the girl, with a gesture of despair; "I wish I could forget. You have brought shame upon me."