elf during the day.

"And then," he said, "we can talk about you coming over to Ameriky, and
living happy and quiet somewhere with me."

"Oh, I can't leave England!" said Cynthia, with a sudden little gasp.
"Don't ask me, father; I can't possibly go away."

He looked at her keenly and scrutinisingly for a moment, and then he
said--

"That means that you've got a reason for wanting to stop in England.
That means that you've got a sweetheart--a lover, my pretty--and that
you won't leave him. I know the ways of women well enough. I don't want
to force you, my girl; but I hope that he's worthy of the woman you've
grown to be. Tell me his name."

CHAPTER XXIX.

Cynthia's father did not get his question answered, because at that
moment a thundering knock at the front-door announced the return of
Madame, and there was rather a hasty struggle to get him away from the
house without encountering that lady's sharp eyes and vivacious
questioning, which Cynthia was not at all sure that he could meet with
equanimity. For herself she felt at that moment equal to any struggle
involving either cunning or courage. She could combat to death for one
she loved.

"Who was that man, _carissima_? Why was he here at this hour of the
night? You are a little imprudent, are you not, to receive such visitors
without me?" said Madame, having caught a glimpse of the intruder's
retiring figure.

Cynthia laughed.

"He is venerable, Madame--white-bearded, old, and a relative--an uncle
from America whom I have not seen since I was a child. I believe that he
has made a fortune and wants to endow me with it. We shall see!"

"Ah, my angel, if he would do that," cried Madame cheerfully, "we would
welcome him at any hour of the day or night, would not we? Bid him to
dinner with thee, little one, or to tea, after thy English fashion--as
thou wilt. The uncle with money is always a desired visitor."

And thus Cynthia escaped further questioning, although at the cost of an
untruth which she did not consider it her duty to repent. "For surely,"
she said to herself, "it is right for a daughter to sacrifice anything
and everything to her father's safety! I was ashamed of having to tell
Hubert what was not true just for my own benefit; but I am not ashamed
of deceiving Madame for my father's sake. I am sorry--ah, yes, I am
sorry! But what can I do?" And in the solitude of her own room Cynthia
wrung her hands together, and shed a few bitter tears