father of some infamy that
you dare not openly charge him with, on no other testimony than the
rambling nonsense of a half-witted, dying old man. Don't speak to me!
I won't hear you! An innocent man and a spy are bad company. Go and
denounce me, you Judas in disguise! I don't care for your secret or for
you. What's that girl Perrine doing here still? Why hasn't she gone home
long ago? The priest's coming; we don't want strangers in the house of
death. Take her back to the farmhouse, and stop there with her, if you
like; nobody wants you here!"

There was something in the manner and look of the speaker as he uttered
these words, so strange, so sinister, so indescribably suggestive of his
meaning much more than he said, that Gabriel felt his heart sink within
him instantly; and almost at the same moment this fearful question
forced itself irresistibly on his mind: might not his father have
followed him to the Merchant's Table?

Even if he had been desired to speak, he could not have spoken now,
while that question and the suspicion that it brought with it were
utterly destroying all the re-assuring hopes and convictions of the
morning. The mental suffering produced by the sudden change from
pleasure to pain in all his thoughts, reacted on him physically. He felt
as if he were stifling in the air of the cottage, in the presence of his
father; and when Perrine hurried on her walking attire, and with a face
which alternately flushed and turned pale with every moment, approached
the door, he went out with her as hastily as if he had been flying
from his home. Never had the fresh air and the free daylight felt like
heavenly and guardian influences to him until now!

He could comfort Perrine under his father's harshness, he could assure
her of his own affection, which no earthly influence could change, while
they walked together toward the farmhouse; but he could do no more. He
durst not confide to her the subject that was uppermost in his mind; of
all human beings she was the last to whom he could reveal the terrible
secret that was festering at his heart. As soon as they got within sight
of the farmhouse, Gabriel stopped; and, promising to see her again soon,
took leave of Perrine with assumed ease in his manner and with real
despair in his heart. Whatever the poor girl might think of it, he felt,
at that moment, that he had not courage to face her father, and hear him
talk happily and pleasantly, as his custom was, of Per