"Your father has had all his convictions trampled upon, all his hopes destroyed," I replied. "The things Hugh has done came upon him suddenly, and overcome by disappointment and grief, he—he——"
"Do you excuse him, Mr. Erskine?" she interrupted.
"I have neither the right to excuse nor condemn. I was simply an onlooker, and had no right to be there at all."
She caught my arm convulsively.
"Don't say that," she said eagerly. "You—you have the right; that is, you are interested in Hugh. He is so fond of you, and he thought, of course he thought, you might influence my father. Besides——"
"Besides what?" I queried, as I saw her hesitate.
"Oh, I don't know. Everything is in a muddle; everything is so hopeless; and yet father talks about God—talks about the power of religion—talks about providence!"
I was silent at this, for her words were but an echo of my own thoughts.
"Why should not Hugh marry the girl he loves?" she went on. "He is young, and has the right to live his own life; if they love each other, what right has my father to stand in their way?"
"I thought you did not believe in love. I remember, when talking with you about it one day, you expressed the opinion that such a thing did not exist." I said this almost triumphantly, as though pleased to get the better of her in an argument.