"She was your own guest, and you have treated her cruelly," said Mr. Lee, softening a little. "No, father, not cruelly; coldly, perhaps, but not cruelly!" "And why coldly?" "Because I do not like Mrs. Dennison." "And why, pray?" "Because she comes between you and your own child--between you and your own wife--because--" "Jessie," I said, rising from my seat, and for the first time becoming visible to Mr. Lee,--"Jessie--" "It is well, Martha, that you are here to check her. Another word, and she would have been no longer a daughter of mine." He was white as marble. Never in my life had I seen him so agitated. Jessie looked at him sorrowfully. There was something more than anger in his face--a wild, troubled doubt, that made him tremble. Jessie laid her hand on his arm, and her lips quivered into a smile. "Oh, father! listen to me. Let this lady go; take us back to your heart again; her influence here has been terrible." He shook off her hand, drew himself up, and spoke with proud calmness,-- "Jessie, be careful, if you would not forfeit my love--at once be careful." Jessie drew back, and leaned on my shoulder, trembling from head to foot. The idea that her father could ever really turn against her had entered her heart for the first time. She was so white that her very face terrified me. "Speak to him," she whispered,--"speak to him." I was about to say something, but Mr. Lee waved his hand, silencing me with a haughty gesture. Jessie stood up, and spoke in a low, sad voice,-- "Father, if I have done wrong, tell me how to atone for it, and I will obey you." Mr. Lee turned away, walking the room three or four times before he answered. Then he took Jessie's cold hand, with some degree of returning kindness, while she stood, with downcast eyes, waiting for the humiliation his words would convey. "Be yourself, my child; conquer your unreasonable prejudice against the lady who has been of great service to your mother, and is in every way estimable. I do not ask any unnecessary humiliation of my daughter; but be your own gracious self again, Jessie, and she will understand that you are sorry." Jessie bent her bowed face a little lower, in token of acquiescence, and, bending his grand head, Mr. Lee kissed her. Then, turning to me, he said, with stern significance,-- "You will remember, Miss Hyde, these scenes are not to be renewed." When he was gone, Jessie threw herself on the floor, and, folding her arms in the seat of an easy-chair, moaned piteously. She did not cry--the pain at her proud heart seemed too hot for tears. I tried to console her; but she only murmured,-- "You were right; I am not fit to be trusted with such things. They burn me like fire." CHAPTER LII. THE FATAL LETTER.