“What language is this? Am I not your father?—have I no title to control your actions. Preposterous notion!—you will find your error and repent it sorely, bitterly.”
“I have done so,” she said, with an earnestness which struck him.
He paused for a moment, and gazed steadfastly at her.
“What means this alteration in you? Why are you so pallid and thin?” he asked, abruptly.
“I have been ill.”
“Ill?”
“Very ill.”
“Tell me,” he asked with a choking utterance; “with whom have you dwelt since you left this house?”
“A young girl.”
“A girl,” he echoed, in surprise.