"Yes. I know why you acted as you did. It was to save me from grief. And if my father is guilty," said the girl, shivering, "it certainly will be the greatest grief of my life, as you said in the letter. How can I marry you should my father turn out to be a murderer?"
"My darling"--Ralph held her to his heart--"I don't visit the sins of the father on the child. If he murdered a dozen women I should still make you my wife; and I wish you would leave the whole of this horrible affair alone and marry me at once."
"Unless my father can exonerate himself I shall have to leave it alone. I dare not go on with a matter which involves his honour."
"And more than that. It involves his liberty and life, and--hush!"
He stopped short to listen, and Audrey listened also. It seemed for the moment, so still were they, that they had been changed into stone. "It's a ring at the front door," said Ralph, anxiously.
"Don't bring anyone in," pleaded Audrey, hastily letting down her veil.
"Trust me," replied Ralph, and left the room. He had only been gone two minutes and Audrey heard him open the door, when there came the sound of a loud and domineering voice. The girl recognised it at once.
"Oh"--she clasped her hands and shrank against the wall--"my father!"
It was indeed Sir Joseph who burst into the room, looking as furious as a mad bull. Ralph was trying to detain him, but in vain. "I'll break your head if you try to stop me," bellowed Sir Joseph, who was beside himself with rage. "Oh, there you are, you shameless girl. It is no use your hiding your face with that veil. I know you. I have followed you here."
"And what if you have?" demanded Audrey, throwing up the veil and looking at the intruder with flashing eyes.