me. There
is the debt, Mr. Dagworthy; we have paid it, and now I will leave you.

He examined her. Even yet he could not be sure that he understood. In
admitting her, he had taken it for granted that she could come with but
one purpose. It was but the confirmation of the certain hope in which he
had lived through the night. Was the girl a simpleton? Had she got it
into her head that repayment in this way discharged his hold upon her
father? It was possible; women are so ludicrously ignorant of affairs.
He smiled, though darkly.

'Why have you brought this money?' he asked.

She was already moving nearer to the door. He put himself in her way.

'What good do you imagine this is?'

'None, perhaps. I pay it because I wish to.'

'And--is it your notion that this puts your father straight? Do you
think this is a way out of his difficulty?'

'I have not thought that. But it was only to restore the money that I
came.'

There was silence.

'Have you forgotten,' he asked, half wonderingly, half with quiet
menace, 'what I said to you yesterday?'

'You see my answer,' said Emily, pointing hastily to the table. 'I owe
you that, but I can give you nothing more.' Her voice quivered, as she
continued, 'What you said to me yesterday was said without thought, or
only with evil thoughts. Since then you have had hours of reflection. It
is not in your power--it would be in the power of no man who is not
utterly base and wicked--to repeat such words this morning. Mr.
Dagworthy, I believe in the affection you have professed for me; feeling
that, you are incapable of dastardly cruelty. I will not believe your
tongue against yourself. In a moment of self-forgetfulness you spoke
words which you will regret through your life, for they were inhuman,
and were spoken to a defenceless girl. After hearing them, I cannot beg
your mercy for my father but you know that misfortune which strikes him
falls also upon me. You have done me the greatest wrong that man can do
to woman; you owe me what reparation is in your power.'

She had not thought to speak thus. Since daylight dawned her heart had
felt too numb, too dead; barely to tell him that she had no answer to
his words was the purpose with which she had set out. The moment
prompted her utterance, and words came without reflection. It was a
noble speech, and nobly delivered; the voice was uncertain at times, but
it betrayed no weakness of resolve, no dread of what might follow. The
last