up a bit of courage, and turn your heart another way; and then I shall
always be a good friend to you, and my doors open to you come when you
will."

Griffith made no reply. Kate strained her ears, but could not hear a
syllable, A tremor ran through her. She was in distance farther from
Griffith than her father was; but superior intelligence provided her
with a bridge from her window to her old servant's mind. And now she
felt that this great silence was the silence of despair.

But the Squire pressed him for a definite answer, and finally insisted
on one. "Come, don't be so sulky," said he; "I'm her father: give me an
answer, ay or no."

Then Kate heard a violent sigh, and out rushed a torrent of words that
each seemed tinged with blood from the unfortunate speaker's heart. "Old
man," he almost shrieked, "what did I ever do to you, that you torment
me so? Sure you were born without bowels. Beggared but an hour agone,
and now you must come and tell me I have lost _her_ by losing house and
lands! D'ye think I need to be _told_ it? She was too far above me
before, and now she is gone quite out of my reach. But why come and
fling it in my face? Can't you give a poor, undone man one hour to draw
his breath in trouble? And when you know I have got to play the host
this bitter day, and smile, and smirk, and make you all merry, with my
heart breaking! O Christ, look down and pity me, for men are made of
stone! Well, then, no; I will not, I cannot say the word to give her up.
_She_ will discharge _me_, and then I'll fly the country and never
trouble you more. And to think that one little hour ago she was so kind,
and I was so happy! Ah, sir, if you were born of a woman, have a little
pity, and don't speak to me of her at all, one way or other. What are
you afraid of? I am a gentleman and a man, though sore my trouble: I
shall not run after the lady of Bolton Hall. Why, sir, I have ordered
the servants to set her chair in the middle of the table, where I shall
not be able to speak to her, or even see her. Indeed I dare not look at
her: for I must be merry. Merry! My arm it worries me, my head it aches,
my heart is sick to death. Man! man! show me some little grace, and do
not torture me more than flesh and blood can bear."

"You are mad, young sir," said the Squire, sternly, "and want locking up
on bread and water for a month."

"I _am_ almost mad," said Griffith, humbly. "But if you would only let
me alone, and not tear