ge first
and see what you said to that."

"You are altered too, father."

"Yes, my deary, I'm altered too. Hain't I had enough to alter me?
Injustice and oppression have almost broke my heart, and ague and
fever's taken the strength out o' my limbs, and a knock I got in the
States three years ago has nigh crippled me. I'm a broken-down man, with
only strength left for one thing--and that's to curse the hard-hearted
ruffian, whoever he was, that spoiled my life for me, and thought to
hang me by the neck or shut me up in prison for the rest of my days. If
ever I could come across him, I'd do my best to make him suffer as I
have suffered. I pray God night and day that He'll let me see that
rascal on his knees to me yet before I die!"

His voice had grown loud and fierce, his eyes shone beneath the shaggy
eyebrows, his hand shook as he raised it to call down vengeance on the
man who had left him to his fate. Cynthia trembled in spite of her love
for him--the tones, the look, brought back memories which made her feel
that her father was in a great many ways unchanged, and that the wild,
lawless nature of the man might be suppressed but never utterly subdued.
She did not feel the slightest abatement of her love for him on this
account; but it suddenly made her aware of the dangers and difficulties
of his position, and aroused her fears for his safety, even in that
house.

"Father," she said "are you sure that nobody will remember you?"

Westwood laughed harshly.

"They're not likely to know me," he said. "I've taken care to change my
looks since then;" and, by a sudden movement of his hand, he showed her
that hair, beard, and moustache were all fictitious, and that beneath
the silvery exterior there grew a scantier crop of sparse gray hair and
whiskers, which recalled his former appearance much more clearly to his
daughter's mind.

"Oh, don't take them off!" she cried. "Somebody may come in--the door is
not locked! At another time, dear father, you will show me your real
face, will you not?"

He looked at her with a mingling of pride and sorrow in his glance.

"And you ain't wanting me to be found out then--you don't want to give
me up to the police?"

"Father, how can you think of such a thing?"

"Some women-folks would think of it, my girl. But you--you're fond of
your father still, Cynthy?"

She answered by taking his rough hand in her own and kissing it
tenderly.

"And you don't believe I killed Mr. Vane