“What do you mean?”

“You would have me believe him a horse-thief and a bird for the penitentiary?” he went on, without seeming to notice her interposition.  “Well, your well-devised scheme has failed of its object, and I have at once revealed to me its purpose and end, and its originator.”

“I do not understand you, sir!”

“Oh, no! very ignorant all of a sudden!  You forgot one of the most material portions of your revelation to me the other day, and that was the name of your confederate in concocting that story of the guilty associations of Willard Duffel.”

“I had no associate, and I have never mentioned the circumstance to a living soul except yourself.  Now, please be equally frank, and tell who your confederate is in this plot to make your daughter out a hypocrite and a liar?”

The father was startled by this bold demand, which, indeed, opened his eyes to the enormity of his child’s wickedness, if his charges against her were true; but he had set his face to one point, and not being easily turned aside from a purpose, proceeded: 

“I am not to be deceived by a show of indignation and virtue, when it is assumed for effect.  You need not put yourself to the trouble of a denial or confession; I know who is associated with you to traduce Duffel; it is no other than the one who stands between you and the man of my choice—­a poor beggarly fellow, to whom you have taken a fancy because of his worthlessness, I suppose.  You understand who I mean.  Well, he shall stand between me and my wishes—­or rather between you and good fortune—­no longer.”

Indignation, surprise, wonder, fear, resentment, and a hundred other emotions filled the mind of the daughter during the delivery of this address; but amid them all, there was a purpose as fixed as that of her sire’s to have a voice in the matter of her own disposal.  But before anything further transpired, the father cast his eyes out of the open window, and seeing a gentleman approaching, said: 

“There comes that beggarly dog now!  I must go and meet him.”

And without further ceremony or explanation, he immediately left the house.

It would be a difficult task to portray the feelings of the daughter at this moment.  She saw that her father was incensed, but the sorrow that this circumstance would otherwise have engendered in her bosom, was lost in the feeling that an outrage had been perpetrated upon her rights and sensibilities, and she felt the blood of indignation coursing through her veins, and mounting her temples and brow.  How could she help these emotions, when she knew that injustice had been done—­that she had been insulted by an implication of falsehood, when she was conscious of a free, full and honorable rectitude of purpose, and that, too, by her own father!  These thoughts rushed through her mind with lightning speed, and the tears forced themselves to her eyes—­tears half of sorrow, half of anger.