He looked ten years older. His eyes started; his jaw fell, and his hands trembled as he raised them, with the thick cane hanging from one wrist. He tried to speak, but the words would not come for a few moments. At last his speech seemed to return, and, in a voice full of rage, hate, and horror combined, he cried furiously: "You here!--fiend!--wretch!--villain!" "Oh, father!" cried Claire, darting to his side. "Hush, Claire! Let him speak," said Fred. "Was it not enough that I forbade you the house before; but, now--to come--to dare--villain!--wretch!--coldblooded, miserable wretch! You are no son of mine. Out of my sight! Curse you! I curse you with all the bitterness that--" "Father! father!" cried Claire, in horrified tones, as she threw herself between them; but, in his rage, the old man struck her across the face with his arm, sending her tottering back. "Oh, this is too much," cried Fred, dropping his stolid manner. "You cowardly--" "Cowardly! Ha! ha! ha! Cowardly!" screamed the old man, catching at his stick. "You say that--you?" As Fred strode towards him, the old man struck him with his cane, a sharp well-directed blow across the left ear, and, stung to madness by the pain, the tall strong man caught the frail-looking old beau by the throat and bore him back into a chair, holding him with one hand while his other was clenched and raised to strike. Volume One, Chapter XXIII. FATHER AND DAUGHTER. "Strike! Kill me! Add parricide to your other crimes, dog, and set me free of this weary life," cried the old man wildly, as he glared in the fierce, distorted face of the sturdy soldier who held him back. But it wanted not Claire's hand upon Fred Denville's arm to stay the blow. The passionate rage fled as swiftly as it had flashed up, and he tore himself away. "You shouldn't have struck me," he cried in a voice full of anguish. "I couldn't master myself. You struck her--the best and truest girl who ever breathed; and I'd rather be what I am--scamp, drunkard, common soldier, and have struck you down, than you, who gave that poor girl a cowardly blow. Claire--my girl--God bless you! I can come here no more." He caught her wildly in his arms, kissed her passionately, and then literally staggered out of the house, and they saw him reel by the window. There was again a terrible silence in that room, where the old man, looking feeble and strange now, lay back in the chair where he had been thrown, staring wildly straight before him as Claire sank upon the carpet, burying her face in her hands and sobbing to herself. "And this is home! And this is home!" She tried to restrain her tears, but they burst forth with sobs more wild and uncontrolled; and at last they had their effect upon the old man, whose wild stare passed off, and, rising painfully in his seat, he glared at the door and shuddered. "How dare he come!" he muttered. "How dare he touch her! How--"