"Yes, yes, it's quite true. I don't know what I should have done without you during these last weeks. You've been very good to your poor, stupid, old father!" She murmured something, and he burst out, "Oh, yes, they do! That's what they say! I know how they talk. They want to get me out of the way and change the place--put in unbelievers and atheists. But they shan't--not while I have any breath in my body--" He went on more gently, "Why just think, my dear, they actually want to have that man Wistons here. An atheist! A denier of Christ's divinity! Here worshipping in the Cathedral! And when I try to stop it they say I'm mad. Oh, yes! They do! I've heard them. Mad. Out-of-date. They've laughed at me--ever since--ever since... that elephant, you know, dear...that began it...the Circus...." She leaned over him. "Father dear, you mustn't pay so much attention to what they say. You imagine so much just because you aren't very well and have those headaches--and--and--because of other things. You imagine things that aren't true. So many people here love you----" "Love me!" he burst out suddenly, starting up in his chair. "When they set upon me, five of them, from behind and beat me! There in public with the lights and the singing." He caught her hand, gripping it. "There's a conspiracy, Joan. I know it. I've seen it a long time. And I know who started it and who paid them to follow me. Everywhere I go, there they are, following me. "That old woman with her silly hat, she followed me into my own house. Yes, she did! 'I'll read you a letter,' she said. 'I hate you, and I'll make you cry out over this.' They're all in it. He's setting them on. But he shan't have his way. I'll fight him yet. Even my own son----" His voice broke. Joan knelt at his feet, looking up into his face. "Father! Falk wants to come and see you! I've had a letter from him. He wants to come and ask your forgiveness--he loves you so much." He got up from his chair, almost pushing her away from him. "Falk! Falk! I don't know any one called that. I haven't got a son----" He turned, looking at her. Then suddenly put his arms around her and kissed her, holding her tight to his breast. "You're a good girl," he said. "Dear Joan! I'm glad you've not left me too. I love you, Joan, and I've not been good enough to you. Oh, no, I haven't! Many things I might have done, and now it's too late...too late..." He kissed her again and again, stroking her hair, then he said that he was tired, very tired--he'd sleep to-night. He went slowly upstairs. He undressed rapidly, flinging off his clothes as though they hurt him. As though some one else had unexpectedly come into the room, he saw himself standing before the long glass in the dressing-room, naked save for his vest. He looked at himself and laughed.