"You need not make excuses to me," said Gertrude, rather bitterly, "for indeed, as you do, Lord Cannington I wonder at the man. He robbed me of my fortune; he allowed me to get into trouble; he scarcely gave me enough to live on. Yet all the time," her voice rose indignantly, "he was using my money as Wentworth Marr. What do you think of such a man?" Cannington's fist clenched itself, and I bit my lip to prevent an oath. If Monk had been there, I fear he would have had a sorry time between us. And Gertrude, whose affections had been cast aside by her tricky father, was an indignant as we were. "Then the Australian cousin----" I began. She cut me short. "There never was any Australian cousin, nor any legal change of name. You can read here what he says," and she passed me the letter. I read that amazing document, which revealed the depths of Walter Monk's heart. He did not appear to be ashamed of himself, but confessed that he had found the diamonds, and had lived on the sale of them, with a most appalling jocularity. He seemed to exult in his cleverness, and declared that he had done his daughter no wrong, since the money coming from the sale of the jewels rightfully belonged to him. Then came another odd trait in the man's character. He still, he said, had much of the fifty thousand pounds in his possession and therefore did not wish to keep the income left by Gabriel. "If my brother," wrote Mr. Monk, "had given me the diamonds, and you the income, all would have been well and I should not have been forced to stoop to concealment which my soul abhors." "Good Lord!" muttered Cannington again, "what a man!" Therefore, as I continued to read, Mr. Monk had made a gift of deed to his dear daughter of the house and grounds, and also of the five hundred a year. He never intended to return to England, he said, as he had an opportunity of marrying the daughter of a wealthy Chicago merchant. He ended his letter--and a remarkable human document it was--by wishing Gertrude and myself all happiness, and bidding the girl remember how kindly her father had behaved in thus settling her for life. Finally, in a postscript, he asked his darling child to remember him in her prayers. This last piece of impudence was too much for both Cannington and myself. We burst into peals of laughter, and then felt ashamed when Gertrude rose suddenly and left the room. I followed hastily. "My own," I caught her as she was springing up the stairs, "forgive us both. We didn't mean it. But the letter----?" "Yes, yes, I know." By this time she was sobbing on my breast. "But oh, Cyrus, to think that I should be the daughter of such a man." "Never mind. It is said in Scripture that a woman shall leave her father and mother and cling to her husband. To-morrow you will be Mrs. Vance, and enter upon a life of unclouded happiness." "Oh, I hope so, I hope so," she murmured, "but the past has been so dreadful that I am afraid of the future."