“I don’t suppose he could,” replied her father grimly.

She rose and came close to his side.

“Father!” she said in a tone of entreaty, placing a hand on his arm.

“What is it, dear?”

There was both tenderness and concern in his keen gray eyes as he glanced up into her troubled face.

“I want you to go to him—­to Mr. North, I mean.  I want you to tell him how sorry you are; I want him to know—­I—­” she paused uncertainly.

Perhaps for the first time in her life she was not quite sure of her father’s sympathy.  She dreaded his man’s judgment in this crisis.

“Now seriously, Elizabeth, don’t you think I’d better keep away from him?  I can do nothing—­”

“Oh, how cowardly that would be!” she cried.  “How cowardly!”

The old general winced at this.  He was far from being a coward, but appearances had their value in his eyes; and even, in its least serious aspect, young North’s predicament was not pleasant to contemplate.

“But there is nothing I can do, Elizabeth; why should I become involved?” he urged.

“Then you must go to him from me!” she cried.

“Child—­child; what are you saying!” cried the general.

“Either you must go to him, or I shall go!” she said with fine firmness.

Her father groaned.

“Be frank with me, Elizabeth.  Has North ever told you that he cared for you?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Before he went away—­I mean that last night he was here.”

“I feared as much!” he muttered.  “And you, dear?” he continued gently.

“He said we might have to wait a long time—­or I should have told you!  He went away because he was too poor—­”

There was a pause.

“Do you care for him, Elizabeth?” her father asked at length.  “Do you wish me to understand that you are committed—­are—­”

“Yes,” she answered quite simply.

“You are sure it is not just pity—­you are sure, Elizabeth?  For you know, right or wrong, he will probably come out of this with his reputation smirched.”

“But he is innocent!”

“That is not quite the point!” urged the general.  “We must see things as they are.  You must understand what it may mean to you in the future, to have given your love to a man who has fallen under such suspicion.  There will always be those who will remember this against him.”

“But I shall know!” she said proudly.

“And that will be enough—­you will ask no more than that, Elizabeth?”

“If my faith in him has never been shaken, could I ask more?”

He looked at her wistfully.  Her courage he comprehended.  It was fine and true, like her sweet unspoiled youth; in its presence he felt a sudden sense of age and loneliness.  He asked himself, had he lived beyond his own period of generous enthusiasm?

“It would be a poor kind of friendship, a poorer kind of love, if we did not let him know at once that this has not changed our—­our, regard for him!” she said softly.