"Look!" said Jonathan dragging his daughter by the arms, and pointing to the portraits along the wall. "You are the first to disgrace them! They were as fine a line of men and women as was ever bred up in America. Think you they stepped down from their high places for silly fancies? Think you they forgot they were born to superior circumstances and sullied their reputations?" Here the autocrat of York's voice broke slightly. The same ghostly face that had appeared to Miss Georgina in Cut-throat Alley leered at him suddenly, and he recoiled. Aghast, he remembered the painting under the attic eaves! Patricia was facing him. The word love was in his ears. With a maddened cry he advanced quivering. Along the films of the air he saw his ancestors as he often pictured them to himself--a fine mass of superior clay on a pedestal. "You shall give him up!" he thundered. Then he turned. The green sarcenet curtain moved ominously, and the form of Richard Sheridan was disclosed in its folds. The youth, heedless of the frowning faces about him, gazed only at the woman he was ready to die for if need were. The passions of the world were swept away as the echo of her cry "I love him--I shall love him always!"--bounded through his heart. For one harmonious moment they gazed into each other's eyes forgetful of surging discords. With stronger grip he clutched at the curtain! "You, sirrah!" scoffed the voice Patricia thought would go on forever, inflicting fresh wounds at each new outburst. "Impudent organ thumper--to dare come here! I'll better your judgment." As he moved nearer Richard she thrust herself before him. From the corner of the room came a wail from Julie. "Oh, don't be hard on them, Jonathan. You helped father make me give up Captain MacLeerie," she faltered. "I might have been Mrs. Captain MacLeerie! Poor Bodsey--he vowed he'd never sail a ship into Amboy Harbor again--and perhaps the cannibals have him now, or the devil fishes!" She began to weep softly. Outside a heavy oaken shutter clanked against the house. Patricia threw her arms about her lover's neck, and her father gazed at her spellbound with fury. "Disgraced us, hussy," he muttered. "Go with your tinker!" Juma fell on his knees and began to lament after the fashion of his kind. "Begone!"--spoke the voice again, breaking at last--"You are no longer one of us!" The girl, supported by the man to whom she was giving her young life, and followed by the trembling negro, crept slowly away. Whiffs of air increasing to a current swept from out the hall. The remaining lights fought with it--then despaired. A tired moon was slumbering behind the western pines, and only the glow of a few watchful stars dripped through the casements. Simultaneously the breaths of every one in the room came faster and faster. Vapors wan and tinged with dust filled the atmosphere, and an unmistakable odor of sandal-wood, faint from long imprisonment.