"You shall ask him to come here. I will appeal to him to watch over you. He is rough, Claire, and his wife is vulgar--coarse; but, God help me! I wish I had had such a true and sterling heart. There, hush! I have made my will," he said, smiling. "It is done; I have but to seal it with my death, and I see its approach without a shade of fear." "But, father! my dearest father!" "My own," he said tenderly, as he kissed her and smiled down upon her. "Ah! you do not shrink from me now. Sweet, true woman. Oh, that I could have been so blind! You were going to ask me something." "Yes, dearest," she whispered; "I want you to forgive--" "May? Yes: she is forgiven. I forgive her, poor, weak child. Tell her that I had but tender words for her even now. I would send her messages, but of what avail would they be, even as the words of a dying man? No; she has not the stability. It is more her failing than her sin. You were asking me to forgive her." "I knew you forgave her, dearest, but I want you to forgive poor Fred." He started from her as if he had been stung. "I saw him last night, and he begs and prays of you to forgive him and let him come. Father, he loves you in spite of all this estrangement." "Silence!" cried the old man furiously. "Have I not said that I would not hear his name?" "Father dearest, what have I done?" cried Claire, as she gazed in terror at the convulsed features, at the claw-like hands, extended, clutching, and opening and shutting as the old man gasped for air. "Father! Oh, help!" A terrible purple colour suffused his face; his knotted veins started upon his temples, and it seemed as if he were about to fall in a fit; but the paroxysm began to pass away. He caught at Claire's hand, and held by it while with his other he signed to her to be silent, for just then the clanking of bolts and locks was heard, and the door was thrown open to admit Richard Linnell and Mr Barclay. Volume Three, Chapter XIII. UNDER BARCLAY'S SHELL. Denville grew composed at once, and taking Claire's hand, stood up facing his visitors with a slight trace of the old manner returning, as he bowed and pointed to the stool and bed. "Poor accommodation for visitors, gentlemen," he said; "but it is the best I have to offer. Mr Barclay, Mr Linnell, will you be seated?" "Couldn't get to you before, Denville," said the money-lender, shaking hands warmly. "Terrible business this. Miss Claire, my dear, the wife has gone to your house again. Taken some things with her; said she should stay." "Mr Denville, I am truly grieved," said Linnell, offering his hand, after giving Claire a grave, sad look. "Mr Barclay and I have come to see of what service we can be to you." "Yes, yes, of course, Denville," cried Barclay briskly. "Bad business, this, but--eh, Mr Linnell?"