She had been pale and drooping these last few days. He had desisted from asking the cause. He knew it too well, and shrunk from an encounter with grief which he could not relieve.
To-day she was red and blooming, and he ventured to compliment her on the favorable change.
“I am glad to see your color coming back again, Jennie,” he said. “You begin to look like your old self again. I could not bear to see you so cast down as you have been for some days past.”
“I do not think it could have troubled your mind very deeply,” she replied, in a bitter tone.
“Why do you say that, Jennie?” was his surprised rejoinder. “You know that no father could feel more tenderly toward you than I do.”
“I know that no stranger could have done me a deeper wrong than you have done,” she replied, looking him straight in the eyes.
“Such language seems to me utterly uncalled for,” he answered, with a deeply-pained look.
“Why have you thrown John Elkton into prison?” was her unflinching reply.
“It could not be avoided, Jennie. You should know that. He is found with a piece of stolen goods in his possession. He refuses to tell where he obtained it. I am very sorry to have wounded you, but could not act otherwise. If he is innocent, why is he silent?”
“You know he is innocent,” she hotly replied. “There is nothing you know better. You have known him as long as I have, and as well. You know he is innocent.”