"You're--my--father," she said, slowly, incredulously. It was ghastly, woven of nightmare threads, that this man, whose very physical presence had become revolting, should be one of the authors of her existence. She owed life to him. How gladly would she have blotted out the years to her birth and waned into nothingness, non-existence! "I'm your father," he repeated after her. "See you remember it.... You've come back where you weren't wanted; now you'll stay where you don't want to stay.... I've got my hands on you and I'll keep them there.... You little fool! There's no danger in you." He laughed grossly. "I'll quarantine you. You've caught a secret that's contagious, and I'll quarantine you. You sha'n't leave this house; you sha'n't see anybody or talk to anybody. I'm not giving you orders. You'll be watched day and night.... If you think you can get out--try it." "Get out of my room!" she cried, and, rushing past him, she threw open the door. She stood crouching, tigerish, and he drew away from her as he passed. In the hall he shook his fist at her. "Try to get out!" he bellowed. "Try to send a word out of this house!" She slammed the door, slammed it with all her strength, and locked it. Her one thought was to injure her father--to hurt him physically. She wanted to see him suffering, crying out in agony.... Wild plans for bringing retribution down on his head flashed through her brain.... She could set the house on fire. She could do this or do that.... It was wild, unreasoning rage. After a time she heard a sound at her door long continued. She snatched it open and found the strange serving-man there on his knees, a basket of tools at his side "What are you doing?" she demanded. "Your father's orders, Miss. I'm putting a lock on this door." "To lock me in?" "I can't say, Miss." "What else would it be for?" "I don't know, Miss." "Are you a German spy, too?" "I? Oh no, Miss. No, indeed, Miss." "Wait...." She ran to her dressing-bag and found her well-filled purse. "I need a friend in this house--and I can afford to pay for one. Will you mail a letter for me? Here's fifty dollars." "Fifty dollars?... Is that all you've got, Miss?" "I've got two hundred," she said. "Give it to me." She thought he was hers and placed the money in his hand. "Is this all? Are you sure this is all you've got?" "Every penny." "Very well, Miss. I shall hand it to your father. It might be, Miss, that you'd find somebody you could bribe.... Now, Miss, if you'll go into your room I'll finish my work." There was something grim, something quiet and determined, about the man. She was afraid of him, for he seemed not so much a man as an automaton, not controlled by human emotions. She made no protest, but re-entered her room and the door closed after her. Presently sounds of work ceased and she tried the door. It was secured from the outside; she was a prisoner.