t she suffered, that it was torture that he
inflicted, but nevertheless she could be redeemed in no other way, and
he remained firm as a rock.

"So, in order to deter me from a just act, you would use my daughter's
attachment as a threat; you would drag her name before the world, that
it might be blasted with your own! Is this what I am to understand?"

"Well, something very like it, I must confess."

Mr. Hurst arose. "I have done with you, Herbert Jameson," he said,
with austere dignity. "Go, your presence is oppressive! So young and
so deep a villain, even I did not believe you so terribly base. Go, I
have done with you!"

Jameson did not move, but sat twisting the tassel of his cane between
his thumb and finger. He did not look full at Mr. Hurst, for there was
something in his eye that quelled even his audacity; but when he
spoke, it was without any outward agitation, though his miscreant
limbs shook, and the heart trembled in his bosom.

"Mr. Hurst," he said, "I do not know how far you have used past
transactions to terrify me, but I assure you that any blow aimed at me
will recoil on yourself. But this is not enough, you have told me to
leave your roof forever--and so I will; but first let my wife be
informed that I await her pleasure here. I take her with me, and that
before you can have an opportunity to poison her mind against her
husband."

"Your wife! Your wife!" Mr. Hurst could only master these words, and
they fell from his white lips in fragments. He looked wildly around
toward the door, and at the young man, who stood there smiling at his
agony.

"Yes, sir, my wife. There is the certificate of our marriage three
days ago, at your pleasant old country-house on the Long Island shore.
You see that it is regularly witnessed--the people about there will
tell you the how and when."

Mr. Hurst took up the certificate and held it before his eyes, but for
the universe he could not have read a word, for it shook in his hand
like a withered leaf in the wind.

Then softly and slowly the conservatory-door opened, and the tall
figure of Florence Hurst glided through. There was a bright red spot
upon her forehead, where it had pressed against the glass, but save
that her face, neck, and hands were colorless as Parian marble, and
almost as cold. She approached her father, took the certificate from
his hand and tearing it slowly and deliberately into shreds, set her
foot upon them.

"Father," she said, "take