Rust turned to enter the room, but as he did so he heard a quick step behind him; and looking round, found himself face to face with a young man of two or three and twenty, elegantly dressed, who eyed him carelessly, and then passing him, entered the room with the air of one perfectly at home. A suspicion of who he was flashed across Rust's mind. That he himself was unknown to the other was not strange, for he had been so much absent, and when he visited his child it was at such irregular intervals, and for such short periods, that a person might have been even a frequent visitor at his house, without encountering him. Nor was there any thing in the outward appearance of the slovenly, haggard old man to attract attention. But the indifference of the other was not reciprocated; for Rust followed him, and closed the door after him, with feverish haste, as if he feared his prey might escape him. He observed the deep blush that sprang to the cheek of his daughter, at the entrance of the stranger; her guilty, yet joyous look as he addressed her; and above all, he perceived _his_ careless, cold, indifferent reply to her warm salutation; and a feeling of revenge, the deadliest that he had ever felt, sprung up in his heart against that man; not so much because he had blasted the happiness of his child, as because he had torn from _him_ all that he had clung to in life. Rust walked to the fire-place, turned his back to it, and without uttering a word, faced the stranger, who eyed him from head to foot with a cool, supercilious stare; then looked at the girl, as if seeking an explanation. The pause, however, was broken by Rust himself, as he pointed with his thin finger to their visitor, and inquired of his daughter: 'Is _that_ the man?' The girl's face became ghastly pale; her lips moved, but she dared not raise her eyes; for she could not encounter the keen, inquiring look which she knew was fixed upon her. 'Answer my question,' said he, sternly. 'This is no time for tampering with my patience.' His daughter attempted to speak. She trembled from head to foot; but not a word escaped her. So intense was her anguish, that it awoke a spark of better feeling in the young man; for confronting Rust, he said in a bold voice: 'If you have any questions to ask respecting me, address them to _me_, not to _her_.' 'I will,' replied Rust, fixing upon him an eye that fairly glowed; 'for you should best know your own character. Are you the cold-blooded scoundrel who, taking advantage of that girl's confiding disposition, of the absence of her father, stole like a thief into his house; by lies, by false oaths, and damning hypocritical professions of love, won her affections; blighted her, and then left her what I blush to name? You wish the question addressed to you; you have it. I'll have your reply.'