er wrath and
indignation.

"I have said it, but I never knew the meaning of love till I knew you.
Lesley, you love me in return! Let us leave the world together--you and
I. Nothing can give me the happiness that your love would bring. Lesley,
Lesley, my darling!"

He threw his arm round her, and tried to kiss her cold cheek, her
averted, half-open lips. She would have pushed him from her if she had
had the strength; but it seemed as if her strength was failing her.
Suddenly, with a half-smothered oath, he let her go--so suddenly,
indeed, that she almost fell against the piano near which she had been
standing. For the door had opened, and the tall figure of Caspar Brooke
stood on the threshold of the room.

CHAPTER XIX.

MAURICE KENYON'S VIEWS.

Mr. Brooke advanced quite quietly into the room. Perhaps he had not seen
or heard so very much. Certainly he glanced very keenly--first at
Lesley, who leaned half-fainting against the piano, and then at Oliver
Trent, who had slunk backwards to the rug before the fire; but he said
nothing, and for a minute or two an embarrassed silence prevailed in the
room. Lesley then raised herself up a little, and Oliver began to speak.

"I was just going," he said, with a nervous attempt at a laugh. "I
haven't much time to-night, and was just hurrying away. I must come in
another time."

Mr. Brooke took up a commanding position on the rug, put his hands in
his pockets, and surveyed the room in silence. Perhaps Oliver felt the
silence to be ominous, for he did not try to shake hands or to utter any
commonplaces, but took his leave with a hurried "Good-afternoon" that
neither father nor daughter returned. The door shut behind him: they
heard the sound of his footsteps on the stairs and the closing of the
hall door. Then Lesley bestirred herself with the sensation of a wounded
animal that wishes to hide its hurt: she wanted to get away and seek the
darkness and solitude of her room upstairs. But before she reached the
door Mr. Brooke's voice arrested her.

"Lesley."

She stopped short, and looked at him. Her heart beat so suffocatingly
loud and fast that she could not speak.

"I don't trust that young man, Lesley," was what her father said quite
quietly.

Then there was a pause. Lesley was still tongue-tied, and Mr. Brooke did
not seem to know what to do or say. He walked away from the fire and
began to finger some papers on a table, although it was quite too dark
to see