“Motives--what motives?” repeated old Wilton, excitedly; “what other motive could Mr. Vane have than that of opening your--I had almost said wilfully---blind eyes to your perverse error--to show you how mistaken you are in the insane impression you are fostering and cherishing in obstinate opposition to the wish nearest and dearest to my heart.” “I do not acknowledge the correctness of Mr. Vane’s conclusions, in respect to the influences by which my conduct is controlled,” returned Flora, firmly. “I consider myself to be the best judge of the effect Mr. Vivian’s gallantry has produced upon my gratefulness.” Mr. Wilton’s breath seemed taken away. He was something more than astonished, he was exasperated. He struck the library-table with his fist. “You shall not decline Mr. Vane’s hand,” he cried, vehemently, “upon that subject I have made up my mind.” “And I,” ejaculated Flora, decisively. He rose up as these words fell from her lips. She rose up, too, and stood calmly and unshrinkingly before him. He looked into her clear, unwavering eyes, which bore his steadfast gaze without the smallest perceptible tremor in the lid. He saw written there in plain emphatic language the determination which would submit to death rather than yield to coercion. He saw there the unquailing spirit, glowing as in a garment of fire, though that eye still was soft and seemed so gentle in its blue loveliness. He gasped twice or thrice--he did not sigh. “Are you my daughter?” at length he uttered, hoarsely. “I was,” she replied. “Was!” he echoed, in a bewildered tone. “When we were poor and struggling,” she continued, “and you were labouring--toiling for the bread we ate, you were my father, for then you were tender, kind, and thoughtful, in all that related to my welfare and to my happiness; then I was your daughter, your child, your own--own Flo’.” She wiped the welling tears from her eyes. “You smiled upon me benignly,” she continued, “you spoke to me in accents of soft lovingness, and you made my life, though poverty intermixed with our daily wants and wishes, one of quiet happiness, for you loved me then, and I--I--adored you.” She paused for a moment. He listened with downcast eyes. She went on-- “Amid our trials, our toils, our sorrows, under our one great affliction--when--when my--my sainted mother----” A sob burst from her quivering lips. The old man’s head bowed yet lower. Flora, with an effort, controlled her tears and went on.