"I was sure, ah, too sure," cried Morel, with a wildness of manner and rapidity of utterance which startled and alarmed Rodolph, "that you were hiding something from me. Too plainly did I perceive, by your pale and altered countenance, that your mind was burthened with some heavy secret. Many a time have I said so to your mother; but she, poor thing! would not listen to me, and even blamed me for making myself unnecessarily miserable. So you see, that weakly, and selfish to escape from trouble ourselves, we allowed our poor, helpless child to remain under this monster's roof. And to what have we reduced our poor girl? Why, to be classed with the felons and criminals of a prison! See, see what comes of parents sacrificing their children. And, then, too, be it remembered--after all--who knows? True, we are poor--very poor, and may be guilty--yes, yes, quite right, guilty of throwing our daughter into shame and disgrace. But, then, see how wretched and distressed we were! Besides, such as we--" Then, as if suddenly striving to collect his bewildered ideas, Morel struck his forehead, exclaiming, "Alas! I know not what I say. My brain burns and my senses seem deserting me. A sort of bewilderment seems to come over me as though I were stupefied with drink. Alas, alas! I am going mad!" So saying, the unhappy man buried his face between his hands. Unwilling that Louise should perceive the extent of his apprehensions as regarded the agitated state of the lapidary, and how much alarm he felt at his wild, incoherent language, Rodolph gravely replied: "You are unjust, Morel; it was not for herself alone, but for her aged and afflicted parent, her children, and you, that your poor wife dreaded the consequences of Louise's quitting the notary's house. Accuse no one; but let all your just anger, your bitter curses, fall on the head that alone deserves it,--on that hypocritical monster who offered a weak and helpless girl the alternative of infamy or ruin; perhaps destruction; perhaps death to those she most tenderly loved,--on the fiend who could thus abuse the power he held, thus prey upon the tenderest, holiest feelings of a loving daughter, thus shamelessly outrage every moral and religious duty. But patience; as I before remarked, Providence frequently reserves for crimes so black as this a fearful and astounding retribution." As Rodolph uttered these words, he spoke with a tone so expressive of his own conviction of the certain vengeance of Heaven, that Louise gazed at her preserver with a surprise not unmingled with fear. "Go on, my poor girl," resumed Rodolph, addressing Louise; "conceal nothing from us: it is more important than you can be aware that you should relate the most minute details of your sad story." Thus encouraged, Louise proceeded: