“Father, do not finish your sentence. Unless you wish me to drop dead before you, do not. As you hope for salvation, never apply that name to—her daughter.”
“Her daughter!” he retorted, violently, shaking her off, until she fell collapsed and exhausted at his feet—“her daughter! Changeling, no daughter of hers or of mine are you. She would disown and curse you from her grave! and——”
“Oh, mother, mother! oh, mother, mother!” groaned the poor girl, writhing and groveling like a crushed worm on the ground.
“And I,” he continued, heedless of her agony, as he stooped, clutched her arm, jerked her with a spring upon her feet, and held her tightly confronting him.
“I—there was a time when I was younger, that had any woman of my name or blood made the shameful confessions that you have made this day, I would have slain her on the instant with this, my right hand. But age somewhat cools the head, and now I only spurn you—thus!”
And tightening his grasp upon her shoulder, he whirled her off with such violence that she fell at several yards distant, stunned and insensible upon the ground.
Then, followed by his second, he strode haughtily from the place.
Dr. Hartley, who had remained standing in amazement through the latter part of this scene, now hurried to the assistance of the swooning girl.
But Ralph Houston, shaking off the dreadful apathy that had bound his faculties, hastened to intercept him. Kneeling beside the prostrate form, he lifted and placed it in an easier position. Then, turning to arrest the doctor’s steps, he said:
“Before you come nearer to her, tell me this: What do you believe of her?”