“I hope, sir, you have taken the trouble to investigate these ridiculous charges.”  But Marcus inwardly hoped he had not.

“I have sir,” responded the inventor, gravely.  “Had the accusations been vague, like those in the first letter from this unknown person, I should have dismissed them from my mind with a laugh.  But they were so specific, and the truth or falsity of them was so easily ascertained, that I thought it my duty, in justice to my daughter, yourself, and to me, to look into them.  It was a painful task, but I have done it.”

“And what have you learned?” asked Marcus, making a transparent feint to look at ease.

“I will tell you frankly; though I wish to say, in advance, that my discoveries, though they might justify some suspicion, do not prejudice me in the least against you.  I have no doubt that you will be able to explain everything.”  But so spoke not the eyes of the inventor.

“Well, then, to make a short story of this unpleasant affair, I have watched your promenades in front of Miss Pillbody’s school three afternoons in succession.  I will spare you the details, though, so clearly are your movements back and forth imprinted on my memory, that I could recount them all to you, if necessary.  It is sufficient to say, that I am forced to believe that my daughter is the magnet which draws you to that neighborhood, and keeps your eyes riveted on that house.  This is all I have to say on the first point in the letter.”

CHAPTER II.

IN VAIN—­IN VAIN.

This was Marcus Wilkeson’s golden opportunity, and he manfully determined to seize it.  But, as he was on the point of blurting out the stifled secret, that cold, pale face—­which resembled marble in all but the drops of sweat upon the brow—­chilled him again.  At the same moment, the hopeless absurdity of love and marriage between a girl of seventeen and a man of thirty-six, occurred to him in all its force.  Stupidly sensitive being that he was, he thought that this icy, intellectual Mr. Minford would laugh at him.

“I confess, sir, that these wanderings seem ‘singular,’ as you term them.  But all the habits of old bachelors are regarded as singular, I believe.  Now, it has been my daily habit, since I retired from business, to lay down my book at two o’clock, and take a little out-door exercise.  Miss Pillbody’s school is not far from my house; the street is pretty clean for New York, and the sidewalks are tolerably dry.  Therefore I select that neighborhood for my daily walk—­my—­my ‘constitutional,’ as they call it.  If, in so doing, I should occasionally cast my eyes—­in fits of absent-mindedness, I may say—­on Miss Pillbody’s school, that is not strange, considering—­considering the interest that I take in your daughter’s education.  It strikes me, my dear sir, that this seeming suspicion is easily cleared up.”  Marcus smiled to think how adroitly he had extricated himself.