"I am quite sure, father."
"Nothing can tear your heart from me?"
"Nothing in this world."
"What if I am not worthy of your love?"
"I cannot stop to think of that, father. Love is not meted out in strict proportion to the merits of those we love. If it were, there would be no difference between love and justice."
James Wentworth laughed sneeringly.
"There is little enough difference as it is, perhaps," he said; "they're both blind. Well, Madge," he added, in a more serious tone, "you're a generous-minded, noble-spirited girl, and I believe you do love me. I fancy that if you never asked the secret of my life, you can guess it pretty closely, eh?"
He looked searchingly at the girl's face. She hung her head, but did not answer him.
"You can guess the secret, can't you, Madge? Don't be afraid to speak, girl."
"I fear I can guess it, father dear," she murmured in a low voice.