“Father, I wish to speak to you a moment,” she said kindly; and he paused.
“I am sorry for what happened last night. I was not quite myself; I said things that will always trouble me if you—unless you can forgive me. I was wrong,—about everything. You must let me help, if I can help you,—in any way.”
He said nothing, but stared at her.
“What angered me was that you weren’t quite frank, father. I didn’t care about the money. It wasn’t that—but if things haven’t gone well with you, I wish to share the burden. No,—I mean it,—that I am sorry,—let us be quite good friends again.”
She went up to him quickly and took his hand.
“Father,” she said.
“Zee, my little girl,—my little girl,” he began brokenly, touching her cheeks with trembling hands.
“Yes, father,” she said, wishing to help him.
“I have been very wicked; I have led a bad life. I must not harm you; I am not fit—”
“You are my father,” she said, and touched his forehead with her lips, wondering at herself.