"Soon tiring of the girl, you turned her adrift to starve or die, or--or to become one of earth's forlornest creatures; it mattered not to you."
He paused, overcome by an emotion that, despite all his efforts, would not be wholly suppressed.
"Am I not right?" he asked, a moment or two later. "Have you ever, from that day to this, troubled yourself to make one single inquiry after the girl whom you once swore that you loved better than life itself? Do you even know whether she is dead or alive?"
"Who are you that you talk to me in this way? By what right do you ask me these questions?"
"Who am I? I will tell you who I am. I am Jessie Ember's father! Who has more right to question you than I?"
"You her father! Oh, Heaven!"
It was little more than a whisper, that seemed instinct with surprise, terror, and anguish.
"Scoundrel! unmitigated scoundrel!" began Pringle. Then he paused. "But I only demean myself by calling you names. You are where you are--and I am satisfied."
"What do you want of me? I am rich, and----"
"Singular, isn't it, that I should have been with you all this time, and never have discovered till the other day that you are the man I have been looking for for years? But things do come about strangely in this world."