he is in all things the very opposite of her father.
This very night she told me'--and I was actually on the verge of
repeating poor Winifred's prattle about her resembling her mother,
and not her father (for already my brain had succumbed to the force
of the oncoming fever, and the catastrophe I was dreading made of me
a frank and confiding child).

'Well?' said my mother, in a voice softer and more velvety still.
'What did she tell you?'

That tone ought to have convinced me of the folly, the worse than
folly, of saying another word to her.

'But I can conquer her,' I thought; 'I can conquer her yet. When she
comes to know all the piteousness of Winifred's case, she _must_
yield.'

'Yes, mother,' I cried, 'she is in all things the very opposite of
Tom. She has such a horror of sacrilege; she has such a dread of a
crime and a curse like this; she has such a superstitious belief in
the power of a dead man's curse to cling to the delinquent's
offspring, that, if she knew of what her father had done, she would
go mad--raving mad, mother--she would indeed!' And I fell hack on the
pillow exhausted.

'Well, Henry, and is this what you summoned me from my bed to tell
me--that Wynne's daughter will most likely object to share the
consequences of her father's crime? A very natural objection, and I
am really sorry for her; but further than that I have certainly no
affair with her.'

'But, mother, the body of her father lies beneath the _debris_ on the
shore; the ebbing tide may leave it exposed, and the poor girl,
missing her father in the morning, will seek him perhaps on the shore
and find him--find him with the proof of his crime on his breast, and
know that she inherits the curse--my father's curse! Oh, think of
_that_, mother--think of it. And you only can prevent it.'

For a few moments there was intense silence in the room. I saw that
my mother was reflecting. At last she said:

'You say that Wynne's daughter told you something to-night. Where did
you see her?'

'On the sands.'

'At what hour?'

'At--at--at--about eleven, or twelve, or one o'clock.'

I felt that I was getting into a net, but was too ill to know what I
was doing. My mother paused for awhile; I waited as the prisoner
tried for his life waits when the jury have retired to consult. I
clutched the bedclothes to stay the trembling of my limbs. On a chair
by my bedside was my watch, which had been stopped by the sea-water.
I saw her take it up