“On second thought, daughter, you are not in a frame of mind to see strangers to-night.  You will remain home this evening.  To-morrow you can see your friend and advise her in her sorrow, whatever it is.”  He went to the door and called the servant.  “Go to Miss Sprague with my compliments, and tell her my daughter is not able to leave the house this evening.”  As the man closed the outer door, Kate made a step forward, crying: 

“You never mean to say that I am a prisoner in my own father’s house?”

“Certainly not.  We’re not play-actors.  I think it best that you should not go to the neighbors to-night, and you, as a dutiful daughter, obey without murmur, because I have always been an indulgent parent and gratified every whim of yours, even to letting you consort with my bitterest enemies for months.”  As he spoke, there was a ring at the doorbell.  Presently the servant entered the room and announced “Mr. Jones.”  Before Boone could direct him to be shown into another room Jones entered the library, fairly pushing the astonished menial aside.  Boone held up his hand with a warning gesture, and nodded toward Kate; but, without halting, Jones advanced to Boone’s chair, and, seizing him by the shoulder, held up a copy of the afternoon paper.

“Read that?  What does it mean?”

Boone’s eyes rested a moment on the paragraphs pointed out.  Then, throwing the paper aside, he asked, coldly: 

“Why should you ask me what it means?  If you are interested in the affair, you might find out by writing to the court.”

At this, Jones, looking around the room, marked the two doors, one leading to the hall, the other to the drawing-room.  He deliberately went to each, and, locking it, slipped the key in his pocket.  He glanced reassuringly at Kate, as she sat dumfounded waiting the issue of this singular scene.  He confronted Boone, leaning against the mantel.

“It’s just as well that we have a witness to this final settlement, Elisha Boone.—­Twenty years ago, Miss Boone, I was a citizen of this town.  I was the owner of these acres.  I am Richard Perley.  In those days I was a wild fellow—­I thought then, a wicked one; but I have learned since that I was not, for folly is not crime.  In those days—­I was barely twenty-five—­your father had a hard ground to till in his way of life.  I became his patron, and from that I became his slave.  I never exactly knew how it came about, but within a few years most of my property was mortgaged to Elisha Boone.  I won’t accuse him, as the world does, of inciting me to drink and gambling.  God knows he has enough to answer for without that!  In the end I was driven to a deed that imperiled my liberty, and Elisha Boone put the temptation and the means to do it within my reach.  Detection followed, and the detection came about through Elisha Boone.  All my property in his hands, my name a scorn, and my person subject to the law, Elisha Boone had no further