"Yes, dear; she was right," he cried, drawing himself up. "I was--I am--an honourable man. But the world has never cleared me, and I have lived a recluse, waiting for the time to come when it should confess the wrong it did me. But it never will, Dinah--it never will." "It shall, father, some day," she cried passionately, as she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him again and again. "Yes, my dear, noble, self-denying father shall stand in his high place amongst men, and they shall be as proud of him as I am of Clive. For this, too, is all false, father. He could not have deceived us." "Well, perhaps not willingly, dear," said the Major sadly. "No, no, no. It is a false report." "But it has ruined me, my child. Well, fate has worked her worst. She can do no more," he added bitterly, "unless my child deceives me too." Dinah sprang from him as if he had struck her a deadly blow, and stood there white as ashes, her eyes dilated and lips quivering till he caught her in his arms. "No, no," he said huskily. "Forgive me, my darling. My words were too cruel. Nothing could come between us two. Forget what I said. The words were wrung from me by my sufferings. It is so hard, dear, to find one's all swept away through my greedy folly, and at my time of life." Dinah uttered a low piteous sigh, and her face went down upon her father's shoulder, while her lips moved as she said the words in her shame, misery, and despair, the words which she had long wished to confide to him. But they were inaudible--he did not hear, and at last, after a tender, passionate embrace, he placed her in a chair. "Well," he said firmly, "I must act like a man." "What are you going to do?" she said, looking up now excitedly. "Go up to town, and save what I can out of the wreck." "But, father, it must be a false report. Wait till we hear from Clive. He will be back soon." The Major shook his head. "Perhaps not." "But I am sure. What evidence have you but this letter--these reports?" "The telegram last night. His agitation on receiving these guarded words. I'll agree, my dear, that the poor fellow meant honourably by us, but he is ruined as well as I. Dinah, my dear, you must be firm. So must I." "And you will go?" "Directly." "Take me too, father," said Dinah excitedly. "Impossible. No; wait patiently. I must go and see the brokers at once, you see, you know there is no other course open." "But you will go straight to Clive, dear." "No," said the Major firmly. "A man in my frame of mind, and with my hot temper, must not meet him for some time to come. It will be better not." Dinah drew in a long deep breath, and remained silent as the Major hurriedly swallowed a little breakfast, and ten minutes later stood by the river path, bidding his child farewell. "God bless you!" he said. "I'll believe that Clive Reed is honest, but the money has gone.--Good-bye."