dering
the state I'm in--and I see no reason whatever why I should not
try--before I die--to put this thing _straight_. That man was head over
ears in love with you, _madly_ in love with you. I used to watch him,
and I know. Of course you offended and distressed him greatly. He could
never have expected such conduct from you or any one else. But _he's_
not the man to change round easily, or to take up with any one else.
Now, if you regret what you did or the way in which you did it, why
shouldn't I--a dying man may be allowed a little licence I should
think!--give him a hint?"

"_Papa!_" cried Marcella, dropping her work, and looking at him with a
pale, indignant passion, which a year ago would have quelled him
utterly. But he held up his hand.

"Now just let me finish. It would be no good my doing a thing of this
kind without saying something to you first, because you'd find it out,
and your pride would be the ruin of it. You always had a demoniacal
pride, Marcella, even when you were a tiny child; but if you make up
your mind now to let me tell him you regret what you did--just
that--you'll make him happy, and yourself, for you know very well he's a
man of the highest character--and your poor father, who never did _you_
much harm anyway!" His voice faltered. "I'd manage it so that there
should be nothing humiliating to you in it whatever. As if there could
be anything humiliating in confessing such a mistake as that; besides,
what is there to be ashamed of? You're no pauper. I've pulled Mellor out
of the mud for you, though you and your mother do give me credit for so
precious little!"

He lay back, trembling with fatigue, yet still staring at her with
glittering eyes, while his hand on the invalid table fixed to the side
of his chair shook piteously. Marcella dreaded the effect the whole
scene might have upon him; but, now they were in the midst of it, both
feeling for herself and prudence for him drove her into the strongest
speech she could devise.

"Papa, if _anything_ of that sort were done, I should take care Mr.
Raeburn knew I had had nothing to do with it--in such a way that it
would be _impossible_ for him to carry it further. Dear papa, don't
think of such a thing any more. Because I treated Mr. Raeburn unjustly
last year, are we now to harass and persecute him? I would sooner
disappear from everybody I know--from you and mamma, from England--and
never be heard of again."

She stopped a moment--strugg