The girl shivered and was silent for a moment, then said: "When—when I thought you were, it was as if a dagger had pierced my heart. I believe I would have died then and there if I had not learned differently. It would have been my love for you that would have killed me. To think my father was a mur——"
She did not finish the sentence. A look of anguish, of terror, came into the father's face. He trembled like a leaf—what if his daughter knew his past!
"What is it, father?" cried Grace in alarm.
With a tremendous effort Mr. Chittenden recovered his composure. "Nothing now, Grace, but your words were so terrible. Don't say them again, Grace. I—I would die if I lost my daughter's love."
"You never will, father. You are too good, too noble," and she drew his head down and kissed him again and again.
Oh! the past! the past! How it stung that father as he felt his daughter's pure kisses on his brow!
"Father, you are not angry with me, are you?" asked Grace, wondering at his silence.
"No, darling; only, for my sake, keep your belief to yourself."
"For your sake I will be just as little a Yankee as possible," answered Grace, smiling.