"Yes, miss; he calls himself McCloskey."
At the utterance of this well-known name, Mr. Stevens raised his head, and stared at the speaker with a look of stupid fright, and inquired, "Who here—what name is that?—speak louder—what name?"
"McCloskey," answered the man, in a louder tone.
"What! he—he!" cried Mr. Stevens, with a terrified look. "Where—where is he?" he continued, endeavouring to rise—"where is he?"
"Stop, pa," interposed his daughter, alarmed at his appearance and manner. "Do stop—let me go," "No—no!" said the old man wildly, seizing her by the dress to detain her—"you must not go—that would never do! He might tell her," he muttered to himself—"No, no—I'll go!"—and thus speaking, he made another ineffectual attempt to reach the door.
"Dear father! do let me go!" she repeated, imploringly. "You are incapable of seeing any one—let me inquire what he wants!" she added, endeavouring to loose his hold upon her dress.
"No—you shall not!" he replied, clutching her dress still tighter, and endeavouring to draw her towards him.
"Oh, father!" she asked distractedly, "what can this mean? Here," said she, addressing the servant, who stood gazing in silent wonder on this singular scene, "help my father into his chair again, and then tell this strange man to wait awhile."
The exhausted man, having been placed in his chair, motioned to his daughter to close the door behind the servant, who had just retired.
"He wants money," said he, in a whisper—"he wants money! He'll make beggars of us all—and yet I'll have to give him some. Quick! give me my cheque-book—let me give him something before he has a chance to talk to any one—quick! quick!"