d me; 'I can't say anything fairer than that or more
liberal.'"

"He doesn't suspect why you want it, does he, father?" Ellen asked with a
painful sense of shame.

"Who can tell what he may suspect? He's as deep as Satan," said the
bailiff, with a temporary forgetfulness of his desire to exhibit this
intended son-in-law of his in a favourable light. "He knows that I want
the money very badly; I couldn't help his knowing that; and he must think
it's something out of the common that makes me want two hundred pounds."

"I daresay he guesses the truth," Ellen said, with a profound sigh.

It seemed to her the bitterest trial of all, that her father's
wrong-doing should be known to Stephen Whitelaw. That hideous prospect of
the dock and the gaol was far off as yet; she had not even begun to
realise it; but she did fully realise the fact of her father's shame, and
the blow seemed to her a heavy one, heavier than she could bear.

For some minutes there was silence between father and daughter. The girl
sat with her face hidden in her hands; the bailiff smoked his pipe in
sullen meditation.

"Is there no other way?" Ellen asked at last, in a plaintive despairing
tone; "no other way, father?"

"None," growled William Carley. "You needn't ask me that question again;
there is no other way; you can get me out of my difficulties if you
choose. I should never have been so venturesome as I was, if I hadn't
made sure my daughter would soon be a rich woman. You can save me if you
like, or you can hold-off and let me go to prison. There's no good
preaching about it or arguing about it; you've got the choice and you
must make it. Most young women in your place would think themselves
uncommon lucky to have such a chance as you've got, instead of making a
trouble about it, let alone being able to get their father out of a
scrape. But you're your own mistress, and you must do as you please."

"Let me have time to think," the girl pleaded piteously; "let me have
only a little time to think, father. And you do believe that I'm sorry
for you, don't you?" she asked, kneeling beside him and clasping his
unwilling hand. "O father, I hope you believe that!"

"I shall know what to believe when I know what you're going to do," the
bailiff answered moodily; and his daughter knew him too well to hope for
any more gracious speech than this.

She bade him good-night, and went slowly up to her own room to spend the
weary wakeful hours in a bitter