Produced by David Widger from page images generously provided by the Internet Archive THE FLOWER OF THE FLOCK By Pierce Egan In Theee Volumes Volume III London: W. S. Johnson & Co. 1865 [Illustration: 0001] [Illustration: 0005] FLOWER OF THE FLOCK. CHAPTER I.--HELEN GRAHAME’s DANGER. She stood a moment as a Pythoness Stands on her tripod, agonized and full Of inspiration, gather’d from distress; When all the heart-strings like wild horses pull The heart asunder; then as more or less Their speed abated, or their strength grew dull, She sank down. --Byron. When Mr. Grahame had locked the door, he flung the key upon the table, and motioned his daughter to a seat. She silently declined to accept it. He paced the library for a few minutes. His emotions were terrible, but they were the strugglings of pride, vain, haughty, ambitious pride, not such as he would have been justified in possessing. Helen stood motionless and faint. She dreaded the demanded explanation, which seemed each instant to draw nearer. Her heart throbbed painfully, so painfully it seemed as though each throb, depriving her of life, would be the last. At length Mr. Grahame confronted her. “Helen!” he exclaimed, “what have you to offer in explanation of the degraded and scandalous conduct of which you have been guilty in flying from your home, and the audacious presumption you have exhibited in presenting yourself here again?” Her bosom heaved, and her throat swelled, but she spoke not. “I demand to know,” he continued, fiercely, “why you quitted position, family, a wealthy home, in a manner so disgracefully clandestine, so utterly reckless of the honour or the pride of our house; I claim to know what you have been doing during your absence; and why now, like some spectre, you suddenly appear among us to bring further shame and disgrace upon us. Speak!” Her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth. The events of the last few months raced through her brain. Oh, how was she to acknowledge one incident, at least, to him? She remained silent. He bit his lips and seized her wrist harshly. “You must, you shall speak,” he cried, hoarsely, “or I will find a way to make you, that shall bring you upon your bended knees in supplication to be spared the torture. Tell me, girl, for whom and with whom you fled from home?” He committed an error when he, thus acting, sought to terrify her into an explanation. He only roused her proud nature. By a sudden motion, she flung his hand from her. “I acted alone, and without being influenced by any person,” she replied firmly, even haughtily. “Your motive?” “You will learn it some day.” “Now--now; I insist upon hearing it now.”