withhold the name of the person on whose authority you accused him; but you did; and although Ned might and did suspect one person, Michael Rust, to be the kind friend to whom he owed your ill will, yet he had no proof of it that would justify him in calling him to account. Ned had a hard task before him; for the charge you made against him was that of harboring evil thoughts and of cherishing unfair designs against your child. It was a serious charge, and one that he could not refute; for a man's thoughts are not susceptible of proof; all that he can do in justification, is to point to his past life and say: 'Judge by that;' and unless Ned could impeach the character of his traducer, of whom he was then ignorant, but who now stands revealed in the person of Michael Rust, as great a scoundrel as ever lived, he had no alternative but to submit, and to hope that time would exculpate him. Now Jacob, even supposing Rust had not confessed that the tales which he had told you respecting Ned were calumnies, is there any thing in Ned's past life to justify the suspicion you have cherished against him? Answer candidly, and you will answer 'No.' Rust's motive was clear enough; he feared Somers, and wished to drive from you one who might be a friend in time of need, and who might one day stand as a shield between you and his dark purposes. Come, Jacob, Rust has confessed all; what he did, what his motives were; and now, tell me, whether you cannot say, from the bottom of your heart, 'Ned Somers, I have wronged you?'' He paused, and looked earnestly at Rhoneland, while every feature glowed with the fervor of his feelings. 'Come, Jacob, what do you say?' There was one other person too who leaned forward to catch the reply; but Rhoneland answered: 'She's my only child, and she's very dear to me. It was a cruel suspicion, and perhaps I _did_ act hastily. I will not say that I _did not_, for I was greatly excited, and said many things that I have since forgotten. But it was better that he should go. Wasn't it, Kate?' He turned to his daughter, took her hand, and repeated his question. 'Wasn't it better that he should keep away Kate?' Kate's voice trembled as she asked: 'What harm did he do, father, in coming here? If his character is fair, why should he not come?' Her father eyed her with an uneasy look. In truth, he feared Ned's presence; for he knew that he loved Kate, and that she reciprocated the feeling; and with the selfishness which old age sometimes brings with it, he was unwilling that she should care for another than himself, or that another should have a claim upon her. At last, he replied rather sharply: 'The reason why he should not come, is because I don't want him.'