"Neither, father, dear," Nellie replied, taking a seat near his side, and tenderly clasping his hand, which was trembling with excitement. "It is all real, ah, too real! The people have been saying these things."
"What, girl! Do you mean to tell me that these things have been talked about ever since the night of the fire?" demanded the parson.
"Yes, father, some have been saying them."
"And you knew about these stories, Nellie?"
"Y--yes, some of them."
"And you never said a word to me! Never gave me a hint of warning, but let me remain in ignorance the whole of this time!"
"We thought it was for the best, father. Don't get angry with me. I suppose I should have told you, but I thought the gossip would soon cease."
"You thought so, did you! Girl, I didn't think you would deceive me--your father, in his old age! Have all my friends turned against me? Yes, yes, and even she, of my flesh and blood--the darling of my heart for whom I would die! God help me!"
"Father, father, dear! don't talk that way," pleaded Nellie. "You will break my heart. You don't know what I have suffered. Day and night the trouble has been with me. I loved you so much that I wished to spare you the worry. I thought it was for the best, but now I see I should have told you. You have friends, true and tried, who do not believe a word of these charges."
The parson who had been gazing straight before him, rested his eyes upon his daughter weeping by his side. His face softened, and the old look returned.