"Silence, wretch!" cried Denville. "I tell you, knowing all, I said that I could not speak, for I was only a broken old man, and that my son might repent; that I could not condemn him and be his judge. And, my God! it has come to this! I have borne all. I have suffered maddening agony as I have seen the loathing in my poor child's eyes. I have borne all uncomplaining, and when, as I dreaded, the exposure came, I unmurmuringly suffered myself to be taken, and I will go to the scaffold and die, a victim--an innocent victim for you, so that you may live; but let me die in peace. Free me from your presence, and I will wait till, in a better world, my darling can come and say, `Forgive me, father; I was blind.'" "Heaven help me! What shall I say?" muttered Fred. "Poor old fellow! It has turned his brain." The old man was in the act of throwing him off and shrinking from him when Fred caught his hands. "My dear old father," he said tenderly, "neither Claire nor I believe that you could commit this terrible crime. You must be cleared from all suspicion, and--come--come--let us be friends. You will forgive me, father--all the past?" "Forgive you? No, I cannot. It is impossible. I have tried. Sitting here alone in this awful silence, with the shadow of the gallows falling across me, I have tried, but it is impossible. I will suffer for your crime. I have told you that I will, but upon one condition, that you never go near Claire again. She thinks me guilty, but she has fought hard and striven to forgive me. Do not pollute her with your presence, but go far away from here. Go at once, lest in the weakness of my nature I should be tempted to try and save myself from death by confessing all." "Heaven help me!" said Fred again; "he is mad." He had spoken aloud, shaping his thoughts unconsciously, and the old man took up his words. "God help me! I wish I were," he said pitifully, "for the mad must be free from the agony which I have to bear." Fred rose to his feet and looked at the old man aghast. Then, as if for the first time, he seemed to realise that his father was not wandering in his mind, and clasping the thin arms tightly, he pressed him back into a sitting position upon the bed, bending over him, and, in his great strength, holding him helplessly there, as he said quickly, and with a fierce ring in his voice: "Why, father, do you know what you are saying? You do not think I killed Lady Teigne?" "Hypocrite!" cried the old man fiercely. "Speak out, man!" cried Fred, as fiercely now. "What do you mean? How dare you charge me with such a crime!" "Hypocrite!" panted the old man again. "You cannot shield yourself now. It is a punishment for my weakness that day--that night. I would not have done it," he cried wildly, "but I was at my last gasp for money. Everything was against me. I had not a shilling, and there all that day the devil was dancing the jewels of that miserable old woman before my eyes."