Hope saw this look, and it made him sick at heart, for he had lived too long, and observed too keenly, not to know that innocence and purity are dangers, and are more often protected by the safeguards of society than by themselves.

“Oh, my child,” said he, “anything is better than this suspense; why do you not answer me?  Why do you torture me?  Are you Walter Clifford’s wife?”

Mary began to pant and sob.  “Oh papa, have patience with me.  You do not know the danger.  Wait till he comes back.  I dare not; I can not.”

“Then, by Heaven, he shall!”

He dropped her arm, and his countenance became terrible.  She clung to him directly.

“No, no; wait till I have seen him.  He will be back this very evening.  Do not judge hastily; and oh, papa, as you love your child, do not act rashly.”

“I shall act firmly,” was Hope’s firm reply.  “You have come from a sham father to a real one, and you will be protected as well as loved.  This lover has forbidden you to confide in your father (he did not know that I was your father, but that makes no difference); it looks very ugly, and if he has wronged you he shall do you justice, or I will have his life.”

“Oh, papa,” screamed Mary, “his life?  Why, mine is bound up with it.”

“I fear so,” said Hope.  “But what’s our life to us without our honor, especially to a woman?  He is the true Cain that destroys a pure virgin.”

Then he put both his hands on her shoulder, and said, “Look at me, Grace.”  She looked at him full with eyes as brave as a lion’s and as gentle as a gazelle’s.

In a moment his senses enlightened him beyond the power of circumstances to deceive.  “It’s a lie,” said he; “men are always lying and circumstances deceiving; there is no blush of shame upon these cheeks, no sin nor frailty in these pure eyes.  You are his wife?”

“I am!” cried Grace, unable to resist any longer.

“Thank God!” cried Hope, and father and daughter were locked that moment in a tender embrace.

“Yes, papa, you shall know all, and then I shall have to fall on my knees and ask you not to punish one I love—­for—­a fault committed years ago.  You will have pity on us both.  Walter and I were married at the altar, and I am his wife in the eyes of Heaven.  But, oh, papa, I fear I am not his lawful wife.”

“Not his lawful wife, child!  Why, what nonsense!”

“I would to Heaven it was; but this morning I learned for the first time that he had been married before.  Oh, it was years ago; but she is alive.”

“Impossible!  He could not be so base.”

“Papa,” said Mary, very gravely, “I have seen the certificate.”

“The certificate!” said Hope, in dismay.  “What certificate?”

“Of the Registry Office.  It was shown me by a gentleman she sent expressly to warn me; she had no idea that Walter and I were married, but she had heard somehow of our courtship.  I try to thank her, and I tried, and always will, to save him from a prison and his family from disgrace.”