"Father, I would speak to thee."
"Speak on, girl."
"Wilt listen to me? And—and—not—and try to excuse my faults."
"We have all our faults, Margaret, thou no more than the rest of us; but fewer, unless parental feeling blinds me."
"Alas, no, father: I am a poor foolish girl, that would fain do well, but have done ill, most ill, most unwisely: and now must bear the shame. But, father, I love you, with all my faults, and will not you forgive my folly, and still love your motherless girl?"
"That ye may count on," said Peter, cheerfully.
"Oh, well, smile not. For then how can I speak and make you sad?"
"Father, disgrace is coming on this house: it is at the door. And I the culprit. Oh, father, turn your head away. I—I—father, I have let Gerard take away my marriage lines."
"Is that all? 'Twas an oversight."