the elder, said to herself as she closed the door, "Father, sure
enough." The likeness was that of outline, which is always most
striking at the first moment; the expression had been wrought into the
strongest contrasts by such hidden or inconspicuous differences as can
make the genius of a Cromwell within the outward type of a father who
was no more than a respectable parishioner.

Lapidoth had put on a melancholy expression beforehand, but there was
some real wincing in his frame as he said--

"Well, Ezra, my boy, you hardly know me after so many years."

"I know you--too well--father," said Ezra, with a slow biting solemnity
which made the word father a reproach.

"Ah, you are not pleased with me. I don't wonder at it. Appearances
have been against me. When a man gets into straits he can't do just as
he would by himself or anybody else, _I_'ve suffered enough, I know,"
said Lapidoth, quickly. In speaking he always recovered some glibness
and hardihood; and now turning toward Mirah, he held out her purse,
saying, "Here's your little purse, my dear. I thought you'd be anxious
about it because of that bit of writing. I've emptied it, you'll see,
for I had a score to pay for food and lodging. I knew you would like me
to clear myself, and here I stand--without a single farthing in my
pocket--at the mercy of my children. You can turn me out if you like,
without getting a policeman. Say the word, Mirah; say, 'Father, I've
had enough of you; you made a pet of me, and spent your all on me, when
I couldn't have done without you; but I can do better without you
now,'--say that, and I'm gone out like a spark. I shan't spoil your
pleasure again." The tears were in his voice as usual, before he had
finished.

"You know I could never say it, father," answered Mirah, with not the
less anguish because she felt the falsity of everything in his speech
except the implied wish to remain in the house.

"Mirah, my sister, leave us!" said Ezra, in a tone of authority.

She looked at her brother falteringly, beseechingly--in awe of his
decision, yet unable to go without making a plea for this father who
was like something that had grown in her flesh with pain. She went
close to her brother, and putting her hand in his, said, in a low
voice, but not so low as to be unheard by Lapidoth, "Remember,
Ezra--you said my mother would not have shut him out."

"Trust me, and go," said Ezra.

She left the room, but after going a few steps up