In a few moments Ellen partially recovered, and gazed wildly around her.
"My sweet child," murmured the old man, pressing her hand to his lips, "live—live for me: all shall be forgiven—all forgotten. I was harsh to thee, my Ellen—to thee who have always been so fond, so tender, and so good to me."
"Leave her, sir, for the present," said Marian: "allow her to compose herself. This discovery has been almost too much for her!"
"I will," returned Mr. Monroe. "You must stay with her, good Marian; and in the morning I will come and see her."
The old man then withdrew.
CHAPTER CXX.
THE FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
IT was nine o'clock in the morning.
Ellen was lying, pale and tearful, in her bed, by the side of which sate her father.
The past night had worked a fearful change in the old man: his countenance was haggard, his look desolate and forlorn.
At one moment his lips quivered as if with concentrated rage: at another he wiped tears from his eyes.