ise to make no reply. Sir Harry, however, from other
sources had convinced himself of the truth, and had told his daughter
that there was evidence enough to prove the fact in any court of law.
Emily when so informed had simply held her tongue, and had resolved
to hate Mrs. Stackpoole worse than ever.

She had been told from the first that her engagement with her cousin
would not receive her father's sanction; and for some days after
that there had been silence on the subject at Humblethwaite, while
the correspondence with Mr. Boltby was being continued. Then there
came the moment in which Sir Harry felt that he must call upon his
daughter to promise obedience, and the conversation which has been
described between him and Lady Elizabeth was preparatory to his doing
so.

"My dear," he said to his daughter, "sit down; I want to speak to
you."

He had sent for her into his own morning room, in which she did not
remember to have been asked to sit down before. She would often
visit him there, coming in and out on all manner of small occasions,
suggesting that he should ride with her, asking for the loan of a
gardener for a week for some project of her own, telling him of a big
gooseberry, interrupting him ruthlessly on any trifle in the world.
But on such occasions she would stand close to him, leaning on him.
And he would scold her,--playfully, or kiss her, or bid her begone
from the room,--but would always grant what she asked of him. To him,
though he hardly knew that it was so, such visits from his darling
had been the bright moments of his life. But up to this morning he
had never bade her be seated in that room.

"Emily," he said, "I hope you understand that all this about your
cousin George must be given up." She made no reply, though he waited
perhaps for a minute. "It is altogether out of the question. I am
very, very sorry that you have been subjected to such a sorrow. I
will own that I have been to blame for letting him come to my house."

"No, Papa, no."

"Yes, my dear, I have been to blame, and I feel it keenly. I did not
then know as much of him as I do now, but I had heard that which
should have made me careful to keep him out of your company."

"Hearing about people, Papa! Is that fair? Are we not always hearing
tales about everybody?"

"My dear child, you must take my word for something."

"I will take it for everything in all the world, Papa."

"He has been a thoroughly bad young man."

"But,