“My daughter!” There was a sob in the father's voice.
Edith stopped.
“My daughter, we must not part yet. Come back; sit down with me, and let us talk more calmly. What is past cannot be changed. It is with the now of this unhappy business that we have to do.”
Edith came back and sat down again, her father taking a seat beside her.
“That is just it,” she answered, with a steadiness of tone and manner that showed how great was the self-control she was able to exert. “It is with the now of this unhappy affair that we have to do. If I spoke strongly of the past, it was that a higher and intenser life might be given to present duty.”
“Let there be no distance between us. Let no wall of separation grow up,” said Mr. Dinneford, tenderly. “I cannot bear to think of this. Confide in me, consult with me. I will help you in all possible ways to solve this mystery. But do not again venture alone into that dreadful place. I will go with you if you think any good will come of it.”
“I must see Mr. Paulding in the morning,” said Edith, with calm decision.
“Then I will go with you,” returned Mr. Dinneford.
“Thank you, father;” and she kissed him. “Until then nothing more can be done.” She kissed him again, and then went to her own room. After locking the door she sank on her knees, leaning forward, with her face buried in the cushion of a chair, and did not rise for a long time.