who never wronged a woman in my life!—­I, who never loved but one woman, who died before I had the chance to marry her!—­and I say and I swear I have sacrificed something of my name and reputation to you!  So that you need not make trouble because you also share in the sacrifice.  Robin thinks you’re my child, and therefore his cousin,—­and he counts nothing against you, for he knows that what the world would count against you must be my fault and would be my fault, if the lie I started against myself was true.  Marry Robin, I tell you!—­and if you care to make me happy, marry him before I die.  Then you’re safe out of all harm’s way.  If you don’t marry him—­”

Her breath came and went quickly—­she folded her hands across her bosom, trying to still the loud and rapid beating of her heart, but her eyes were very bright and steadfast.

“Yes?  What then?” she asked, calmly.

“Then you must take the consequences,” he said.  “The farm and all I have is left to Robin,—­he’s my dead sister’s son and my nearest living kin—­”

“I know that,” she said, simply, “and I’m glad he has everything.  It’s right that it should be so.  I shall not be in his way.  You may be quite sure of that.  But I shall not marry him.”

“You’ll not marry him?” he repeated, and seemed about to give vent to a torrent of invective when she extended her hands clasped together appealingly.

“Dad, don’t be angry!—­it only hurts you and it does no good!  Just before supper you reminded me of what they say in Church that ’the sins of the fathers should be visited on the children, even unto the third and fourth generation.’  I will not visit the sin of my father and mother on anyone.  If you will give me a little time I shall be able to understand everything more clearly, and perhaps bear it better.  I want to be quite by myself.  I must try to see myself as I am,—­unbaptised, nameless, forsaken!  And if there is anything to be done with this wretched little self of mine, it is I that must do it.  With God’s help!” She sighed, and her lips moved softly again in the last words, “With God’s help!”

He said nothing, and she waited a moment as if expecting him to speak.  Then she moved to the table where she had been sitting and folded up her needlework.

“Shall I get you some wine, Dad?” she asked presently in a quiet voice.

“No!” he replied, curtly—­“Priscilla can get it.”

“Then good-night!”

Still standing erect he turned his head and looked at her.

“Are you going?” he said.  “Without your usual kiss?—­your usual tenderness?  Why should you change to me?  Your own father—­if he was your father—­deserted you,—­and I have been, a father to you in his place, wronging my own honourable name for your sake; am I to blame for this?  Be reasonable!  The laws of man are one thing and the laws of God are another,—­and we have to make the best we can of ourselves between