“It was an ill-advised step,” he said sternly. “You did not know that this was the man who protected you.”
“I felt so sure of it that I came to see,” she replied. “Don’t be angry with me, Stephen,” she whispered. “I owned to you last night that I was in fault, and meant to do better.”
“Yes, and refused to answer my questions,” he replied. “You do not tell me whom you went to see.”
“Is it not enough that I have promised you I’ll go no more?” she replied with quivering lips.
“Yes, yes, my child,” he said tenderly, as he took her in his arms and laid his cheek against her forehead. “It is enough, and I will not press you. Dear Linny, indeed I strive for your good.”
“I know that, Stephen,” she cried with a wild burst of tears, and, flinging her arms round his neck, she kissed him again and again. “My own brave, good brother,” she said; “and I’ve been so ungrateful and selfish! Oh, Stephen, I’m a beast—a wretch!” she sobbed.
“Hush, hush, little one,” he said; and then, starting, he held her at arm’s length and gazed full in her eyes. “Why, Linny,” he exclaimed, as a light seemed to have flashed across his mind, “it was that man—you went to meet—who insulted you.”
She turned away her face, and hung her head, shivering as he spoke, and weeping bitterly.
“It was,” he cried; “you do not deny it. The villain!”
“Please, please don’t, Stephen,” she sobbed in a low, piteous voice.