s head as he heard the words.

"What is that? What--this young person the daughter of Westwood the
murderer? Abominable! What business has she here? It is an insult to us
all!"

Cynthia turned upon him like a wild animal at bay, defiance flashing in
her mournful magnificent dark eyes.

"My presence insults you less than the words Mrs. Vane has spoken insult
me!" she cried, tossing back her head with the proud stag-like gesture
which Hubert had learned to know so well. "She is more cruel than I ever
thought one woman could be to another! She must know that I have nothing
to reproach myself with--that my life is as pure as hers--purer, if all
one hears is true." She could not deny herself the vengeful taunt, but
was recalled to her better self when she saw Florence blanch under it
and suddenly draw back. "But about myself I do not choose to speak. Of
my father I will say one word--to you, sir, who I am sure will be just
at least to one who craves only for justice--my father, sir, was
innocent of the crime for which he was condemned; and some day his
innocence will be manifested before all eyes. Mr. Lepel knows--he knew
before he was taken ill--that I am Andrew Westwood's daughter. I told
him a few days ago."

"And he was so much horrified by the news that this illness is the
result. I see now," said Mrs. Vane coolly, "why this break down has
taken place. The poor boy, General, has been so harassed and overcome by
the discovery that his brain has for the time being given way. And yet
this girl pretends that he wants her to remain!"

"I appeal to the doctor!" said Cynthia, suddenly turning as white as
Florence herself had done. "If he supports me, you will yield to his
decision? If he says that I am not necessary here, I will go. I have no
wish to inflict my presence on those to whom it is unwelcome."

She glanced proudly from Mrs. Vane to the General. The old man was much
perturbed. He was walking about the room, muttering to himself, his lips
protruding, his brow wrinkled with anger and disgust.

"Too bad--too bad!" Cynthia heard him say. "Westwood's daughter--nursing
Hubert too! Tut, tut--a bad business this!"

Cynthia resolved upon a bold stroke--she would address him.

"Sir," she said, taking a step towards him, "will you listen to me for a
moment? I promise you that I will go if the doctor says that I am not
wanted. You need not fear that I shall force myself upon you. I only ask
you to forgive me the fact o