e only explanation I can think of [he wrote]. It seems as if
he must be insane. And yet he seemed rational enough at the beginning
of our first interview and during most of the second. Even when I
had broken the news that there was a girl in whom I felt an especial
interest he did not show any sign of the outbreak that came afterward.
It wasn't until I began to tell how I first met you there at South
Harniss, who you were, and about Captain Gould and Mr. Hamilton, that I
noticed he was acting queerly. I was head over heels in my story, trying
to make plain how desperate my case was and doing my best to make him
appreciate how tremendously lucky his son was to have even a glimmer of
a chance to get a girl like you for a wife, when I heard him make an odd
noise in his throat. I looked up--I don't know where I had been looking
before--certainly not at him--and there he was, leaning back in his
chair, his face as white as his collar, and waving a hand at me. I
thought he was choking, or was desperately ill or something, and I
sprang toward him, but he waved me back. "Stop! Wait!" he said, or
stammered, or choked; it was more like a croak than a human voice.
"Don't come here! Let me be! What are you trying to tell me? Who--who
is this girl?" I asked him what was the matter--his manner and his look
frightened me--but he wouldn't answer, kept ordering me to tell him
again who you were. So I did tell him that you were the daughter of
the Reverend Charles Lathrop and Augusta Lathrop, and of your mother's
second marriage to Captain Marcellus Hall. "But he died when she was
seven years old," I went on, "and since that time she has been living
with her guardians, the two fine old fellows who adopted her, Captain
Shadrach Gould and Zoeth Hamilton. They live at South Harniss on
Cape Cod." I had gotten no further than this when he interrupted me.
"She--she has been living with Zoeth Hamilton?" he cried. "With Zoeth
Hamilton! Oh, my God! Did--did Zoeth Hamilton send you to me?" Yes, that
is exactly what he said: "Did Zoeth Hamilton send you to me?" I stared
at him. "Why, no, Dad," I said, as soon as I could say anything. "Of
course he didn't. I have met Mr. Hamilton but once in my life. What
IS the matter? Sit down again. Don't you think I had better call the
doctor?" I thought surely his brain was going. But no, he wouldn't
answer or listen. Instead he looked at me with the wildest, craziest
expression and said: "Did Zoeth Hamilton tell