"Everything. Whether we lived or died, it would have been better. Why should I bring my misery to you? Oh, papa, you do not know,—you can never know."
"But I must know. Is there more than this dinner to disturb you?"
"Oh, yes;—more than that. Only I couldn't bear that it should be done in your house."
"Has he—ill-treated you?"
Then she got up, and stood before him. "I do not mean to complain. I should have said nothing only that you have found us in this way. For myself I will bear it all, whatever it may be. But, papa, I want you to tell him that we must leave this house."
"He has got no other home for you."
"He must find one. I will go anywhere. I don't care where it is. But I won't stay here. I have done it myself, but I won't bring it upon you. I could bear it all if I thought that you would never see me again."
"Emily!"
"Yes;—if you would never see me again. I know it all, and that would be best." She was now walking about the room. "Why should you see it all?"
"See what, my love?"