her false, like you."

"I am not false; I never was; Heaven knows it!" cried Harry,
passionately. "I do not blame you for your bitter words. I have earned
your curses, though I meant to earn your blessing."

"My blessing!" Contempt and hatred struggled for the mastery in her
tone. "Richard, Richard! in your chains and toil, do you hear this? This
woman meant to earn my blessing!"

"Upon my soul--whose salvation I would have imperiled to save him--I did
my best, although it seemed my worst," cried Harry. "That I was weak and
credulous and fearful is most true; but indeed, indeed, I was faithful
to your son. My father--he is dead, madam, and past your judgment" (for
the fury in the other's eyes had blazed up afresh at the mention of
him)--"deceived me with false hopes; for fear alone--though I was timid
too--would never have caused me to break the promise I had passed to
you. He said, if I disgraced myself and him by the perjury I
contemplated, that he would thrust me from his door forever; that in the
lips of all the world my name would become another word for shame and
infamy; that even the man I loved would loathe me when I had thus served
his turn. I answered him, 'No matter, so I save my Richard.' Then he
said, 'But you will not save him; you will ruin him, rather, by this
very evidence you purpose to give. We have proof enough of this Yorke's
guilt, no matter what you swear; and we have proof, besides, of his
having committed other offenses, if we choose to adduce it. All you will
effect is to make yourself shameful.' Then I hesitated, not knowing what
to think. 'The case is this,' argued my father: 'I have no grudge
against this young scoundrel, since the money has been all recovered,
and I don't want revenge--else, as I say, I can easily get it. But I'll
have him taught a lesson; he must be punished for the wrong he has done,
but not severely. Before the judge passes sentence, I, the prosecutor,
will beg him off: such an appeal is always listened to, you know, and I
will make it. But if you dare to speak for him, as I hear you mean to
do--if you, my daughter, call yourself thief and trollop to save his
skin, then shall he rot in jail! He shall, by Heaven! His fate hangs on
my lips, not yours,'"

"Can this be true?" mused the old woman.

"It _is_ true, so help me Heaven!" cried Harry. "I was a fool, a poor,
weak, shuddering fool, but not a traitress. If you were in court, and
saw me look at him--the smile I ga