me--crime? Speak! I will shake the
truth from you!"

"Father! Don't!" she screamed, terrified by his look; and from his
searching gaze, she essayed to hide, by covering her face with her
hands, the secret her conscience magnified so as to forbid confession
and denial alike. I am glad to recall this act of womanhood, which
showed her inability to brazen all accusation out.

But Mr. Faringfield saw no palliating circumstance in this evidence of
womanly feeling. Seeing in it only an admission of guilt, he raised
his arms convulsively for a moment as if he would strike her down with
his hands, or crush her throat with them. But, overcoming this
impulse, he drew back so as to be out of reach of her, and said, in a
low voice shaken with passion:

"Go! From my house, I mean--my roof--and from Philip's part of it.
God! that a child of mine should plot against my country, for
England--that was enough; but to be false to her husband, too--false
to Philip! I will own no such treason! I turn you out, I cast you off!
Not another hour in my house, not another minute! You are not my
daughter, not Philip's wife!--You are a thing I will not name! We
disown you. Go, I bid you; let me never see you again!"

She had not offered speech or motion; and she continued to stand
motionless, regarding her father in fear and sorrow.

"I tell you to leave this house!" he added, in a slightly higher and
quicker voice. "Do you wait for me to thrust you out?"

She slowly moved toward the door. But her mother ran and caught her
arm, and stood between her and Mr. Faringfield.

"William!" said the lady. "Consider--the poor child--your favourite,
she was--you mustn't send her out. I'm sure Philip wouldn't have you
do this, for all she might seem guilty of."

"Ay, the lad is too kind of heart. So much the worse her treason to
him! She _shall_ go; and you, madam, will not interfere. 'Tis for me
to command. Be pleased to step aside!"

His passion had swiftly frozen into an implacable sternness which
struck fear to the childish heart of his wife, and she obeyed him
dumbly. Dropping weakly upon a chair, she added her sobs to those of
Fanny, which had begun to break plaintively upon the tragic silence.

Margaret raised her glance from the floor, in a kind of wistful
leave-taking, to us who looked on and pitied her.

"Indeed, sir," began Mr. Cornelius softly, rising and taking a step
toward Mr. Faringfield. But the latter cut his good intention short