“‘What do you mean?’ I cried, shaken out of my composure for the first time. ‘Explain quickly; my patience is almost at an end.’
“‘Ah, if that is all, my impatient son,’ said my father, lowering his voice, craftily, ‘you will soon know far too much for your peace of mind!’
“‘Explain!’ I cried, my wrath rising to fever heat. I towered above him, white with rage, and he, seeming to realize for the first time I was no longer a child, retreated nervously.
“‘You have often asked about the parents of Jeanette, and now I think it is but right you should know all.’
“‘Ah!’ I cried, joyfully. ‘At last!’
“‘But there is little cause for rejoicing,’ said my father, lowering his voice till it was scarce above a whisper. ‘What would you say, my son, if I were to tell you that the father of your fair Jeanette was—a thief?’ Ah, the evilness of that smile! How I hated him at that moment!
“‘Sir,’ said I, ‘no such statement will I give belief till it has been proven to me beyond all doubt, and——’ I 91 leaned forward, speaking with intensity, ‘you have yet to understand that were Jeanette’s father doubly a thief, still would Jeanette be Jeanette, and the more obstacles you set in our path, only the more determined shall I become to wed her—if she will have me.’
“‘Ah, but that is the question,’ sneered my father. ‘It seems you know not your Jeanette so well, after all, for you have left her natural pride outside your fine calculations. Suppose she will not have you, what then, eh?’
“‘Ah, then you have told her!’ I cried, choking with rage at my father—with pity and a great longing to hold my love in my arms and dry away her tears. ‘Why could you have not have spared the child that knowledge? Oh, Jeanette!’ I cried, and flung myself against the door; then, turning, met my father’s sneering look with one of bitter defiance. ‘I will see Jeanette first,’ I said, tensely. ‘And then, my father, we will have a short reckoning,’ and going out, I slammed the door upon his sneering face and flung myself down the stairs in search of my love.
“‘Jeanette,’ I cried, implored, ‘Come to me!’ and ran from room to room, when, not finding her, I became frantic and knocked wildly upon the door of her own room, calling to her aloud. But she was not there, nor could I find her anywhere. Her room showed evidence of a hurried packing—small things strewn here and there; but her sweet presence, that had filled the gloomy house with sunshine, had fled, where, where, I could not tell!” Here the speaker’s voice trailed off and came to a stop. Then he turned to the group about him, saying, half questioningly, half apologetically, “I fear to tire you with this so long tale. After all, I suppose it is interesting only when applied to one’s self.”