catchy a glance at them in the
drawing-room. It was a kind of reading fascinated me intensely, it was
so real. But why do you ask me?"

"I don't know why I asked the question," muttered he, half moodily, and
hung his head down. "Yes, I do," cried he, after a pause. "I wanted to
know if you ever saw _my_ name--our name--in the public prints."

"Once,--only once, and very long ago, I did, and I asked the governess
if the name were common in England, and she said, 'Yes.' I remember
the paragraph that attracted me to this very hour. It was the case of
a young man--I forget the name--who shot himself in despair, after some
losses at play, and the narrative was headed, 'More of Grog Davis!'"

Davis started back, and, in a voice thick and hoarse with passion, cried
out,--

"And then? What next?" The words were uttered in a voice so fearfully
wild that Lizzy stood in a sort of stupefied terror, and unable to
reply. "Don't you hear me, girl?" cried he. "I asked you what came
next."

"There was an account of an inquest,--some investigation as to how the
poor fellow had met his death. I remember little about that. I was only
curious to learn who this Grog Davis might be--"

"And they could n't tell you, it seems!"

"No; they had never heard of him."

"Then I 'll tell you, girl. Here he stands before you."

"You! papa--you--dearest pa! Oh, no, no!" cried she, imploringly, as
she threw herself on his neck and sobbed bitterly,--"oh no! I 'll not
believe it."

"And why not believe it? What was there in that same story that should
prejudice _me_? There, there, girl, if you give way thus, it will offend
me,--ay, Lizzy, offend me."

She raised her head from his shoulder, dried her eyes, and stood calm
and unmoved before him. Her pale face, paler in the bright moonlight,
now showed not a trace of passion or emotion.

Davis would have given his right hand at that moment that she had been
led into some burst of excitement, some outbreak of passionate feeling,
which, in rebuking, might have carried him away from all thoughts about
himself; but she was cold and still and silent, like one who has heard
some terrible tidings, but yet has summoned up courage for the trial.
There was that in her calm, impassive stare that cut him to the very
heart; nor could any words have reproached him so bitterly as that
steadfast look.

"If you don't know who we are, you know what we are, girl. Is that not
so?" cried he, in a thick and passi