"It may be accidental, and yet a source of danger," said Cynthia anxiously. "I wish you would go back to the States at once, father. I am quite ready to go. There is nothing to keep me in England now."
"Why, have you broken off with that young man?" said Westwood sharply.
"Not altogether." The remembrance of the previous night's kiss under the umbrella made Cynthia's cheeks burn red as she replied. "But since I know what you have told me—that he is a relative of the Vanes of Beechfield—I have determined that it cannot go on. He and his family would hate me if they knew. I cannot forget the past; I cannot forget what they did and said; and I do not see how I can marry a man who unjustly believes that my father was his kinsman's murderer." The fire came back to her eyes, the firmness to her voice, as she spoke.
Westwood watched her admiringly.
"Well spoke, my little girl—well spoke! I didn't think you had it in you—I didn't indeed! Let him go his way, and let us go ourn. I didn't tell you all that I might ha' done when I came back from Beechfield the other day, because I didn't rightly know whether you was with me or against me."
"With you—always with you, dear father!"
"And I was a little doubtful, so to speak, seeing as how you had taken up, although by accident, with a fellow belonging to the camp of my enemies. But now I'll tell you a little more. Has Mr. Lepel ever told you that he had a sister?"
"No."
"Well, he has; and, what's more, she's married to the old General—you remember him at Beechfield?"
"Yes."