“Forgive me—­pity—­pardon,” murmured she.

“Listen!” said he, in a stem whisper.  “Obey me now, you wicked, wanton slut, or I proclaim your shame before them all; one minute will decide your fate!  Be stubborn, and you shall go forth through yonder door, discarded, friendless, infamous, to beg your bread, or win it how you will; be tractable, and even yet you shall have a father and a home.  Make choice, and quickly; and having made it, be you sure of this, that it shall hold.  Do you hear me, trollop?”

“I hear!  I hear!” she murmured, shuddering.  “I will obey you now, and ever.”

“Then marry Solomon Coe—­at once—­within the month.”

“Oh, father, mercy!”

His fingers were on the door, and the key grated in the lock.

“The sea-air makes one famish,” said a gay voice outside.

“It’s lucky,” laughed another, “for there is sure to be nothing for dinner but the inevitable ham and eggs.”

In another instant the final barrier between herself and public shame would have been withdrawn by that relentless hand.

“I promise—­I promise—­spare me!” cried the unhappy girl, and fell fainting on the floor.

The old man drew a long, deep breath, and wiped his forehead.  His victory had not been lightly won.  He lifted his daughter up and carried her to the sofa; then raised the little clumsy window, rarely opened, and propped it with a stick, so that the breeze might blow upon her tear-stained cheek.  How white and worn and emptied of all joy it looked!  As he gazed upon her, a touch of pity stole into her father’s face.  He poured out a little spirits in a glass, and put it to her lips.  “Take a sup of this, and you’ll be better, child.”

She opened her heavy eyes, and shook her head.

“You said you would have mercy, father, if I promised?”

“Yes, yes; all shall be forgotten.  We will not even speak of it to one another.”

“And you will pardon him?  You will not hurt my Richard?”

“Your Richard!”

“Yes, for he was mine once.  You will not bear witness against him before the judge?  Is he not punished enough in losing me?  Am I not punished?”

“Silence!” exclaimed the old man, in a terrible voice.  His hand, trembling with passion, had struck against the strong-box, and at its touch his wrath broke out in flame.  “That man is dead to you henceforth!  You gave your promise without conditions.  Moreover, his fate is in the hands of the law, and not in mine.”

CHAPTER XXV.

AN UNEXPECTED GUEST.