Effingston, during the narrative, had remained motionless, his features drawn and colorless. Fully realizing that his father would not have maliciously manufactured this evidence against the girl, his mind could conceive no extenuating circumstance to clear it away. That she had deceived him was not beyond the consent of reason. He was a man of the world and of the time, well aware of possible duplicity, and further, that the age offered numerous examples of women with one hand on the cradle while the other guided an axe toward some head which for a cause must fall, or fanatically sacrificing all, even honor, to gain the coveted support of a courtier in some undertaking. The scandal which had been breathed about her, to do him justice, he did not give ear to, believing implicitly the story told by Elinor, explaining her associations with Winter. But was not this man a champion of the cause which he had helped to defeat? Was it impossible that she had played her lover as a dupe to further a scheme? This was entirely plausible, but he could not bring his mind to believe it. And why? For the same old, old reason which has cost men their lives and honor, kings their crowns--because he loved her. When his father had finished, he said, in a quiet voice, extending his hand: "I thank thee; thy motive is of the best; and I most humbly beg thy pardon for my hasty words, prompted by anger only." "What course dost thou now intend to pursue?" inquired Monteagle uneasily, for the quiet, passionless manner of his son made him apprehensive. "What thou or any other man would do--give the woman a chance to defend herself." "Aye, I thought as much," the other replied with an air of angered impatience. "She will, with her arms about thy neck, explain fast enough, and to thy satisfaction." "Dost thou forget," the son inquired, "that I am a Monteagle, and have implanted in me that pride and temper which can illy condone, even in those they love, deceit and falsity? Have no fears for me," he added, advancing with a determined step toward the door. "Where art thou going, my son?" asked the other in an alarmed tone. "To face this woman with the accusations thou hast just uttered against her." "Stay; go not in thine anger, for some mischief may be wrought. Wait until thy temper cools; see her not again, but write." "I am not a killer of unarmed adversaries," retorted Effingston; "again, I repeat, have no fear for me." "Well, well; God's will be done; it may be for the best," the other said with a sigh, turning away his head. The son hesitated for a moment; then quickly kneeling before his father and taking his hand, exclaimed: "I humbly ask thee to forget my hot words, and again I crave thy pardon for the same. They were spoken in wrath, on hearing the image of my love fall crashing to the earth." Then springing to his feet, before Monteagle had opportunity to reply, he hurriedly left the room.