“Father, my dear father!”
He looked up suddenly, and in some confusion.
“What, Margo! not asleep yet, my girl? This is a late hour for young eyes to be open. And yet I am glad that you came to bid me good-night before retiring. It was affectionate of you, Margo,” he said, laying down his pen, putting a blotter over his writing, and then drawing her to his side in a close embrace—“yes, it was affectionate of you, Margo; but ah, little one, no daughter loves as a true wife does. I have been thinking of your mother, dear.”
“Think of her still, my father,” replied the maiden, in a voice of thrilling solemnity.
Major Helmstedt’s countenance changed, but, controlling himself, he pressed a kiss upon his daughter’s brow, and said:
“Well, well, I will not keep you up. God bless you, my child, though I cannot. Good-night!” and with another kiss he would have dismissed her. But, softly laying her hand upon his right hand, she asked, in a voice thrilling with earnestness:
“Oh, my father, what is this that you are about to do?”
“Margaret, no prying into my private affairs—I will not suffer it!” exclaimed Major Helmstedt, in disturbed voice.
“My father, there is no need of prying; I know all! Providence, for His good purposes, has given the knowledge into my hands. Oh, did you think that He would permit this terrible thing to go on uninterruptedly to its bloody termination?”
“What mean you, girl?”