"O God! Ellen," cried the old man, placing the light upon a side-table, "tell me that it is not true—say but one word, to assure me that you are the pure and spotless girl I have always deemed you to be!"
"Father!" exclaimed the young lady, a horrible feeling taking possession of her, "why do you ask me that question?"
"Because a fearful suspicion racks my brain," answered the old man; "and I could not retire to rest until I knew the truth—be that truth what it may."
"My dear father—you alarm me cruelly!" said Ellen, her cheeks at one moment suffused with blushes, and then varying to ashy whiteness.
"In one word, Ellen," exclaimed the old man, "what is the meaning of that letter?"
And the almost distracted father threw the surgeon's note upon the bed.
In an instant Ellen remembered that she had left it behind her in the room where she was seated with her father when she received it.
Joining her hands in a paroxysm of the most acute mental agony, she burst into tears, crying wildly, "Forgive me! forgive me—my dear, dear father! Do not curse your wretched—wretched daughter!"
And then she bowed her head upon her bosom, and seemed to await her parent's reply in a state of mind which no pen can describe.
For some moments Mr. Monroe maintained a profound silence: but the quivering of his lip, and the working of the veins upon his forehead betrayed the terrible nature of the conflict of feelings which was taking place within his breast.