On one fine afternoon, the bright rays of a setting sun streaming through the window fell upon the face of the old man, as he was dozing in his room, and awakened him. Starting to his feet, and casting his eyes hurriedly about him, he exclaimed; 'I tell you no; I tell you no, Michael Rust. It shall never be! Ah Kate!' said he, looking about the room, and seeing no one except his daughter, 'it's you, is it?—only you? And I've been dreaming? Well, well; thank God it was no worse! It's strange I should have dreamed that Michael Rust wanted you, Kate, and asked for you. But no matter; kiss me, child. We've done with him. There's a comfort in that. We shall be quite happy—happy as we once were. Shall we not, Kate?'
Kate's lips quivered, as she pressed them to his forehead; and there was a busy little voice at her heart, which whispered a name, and brought up recollections that nearly choked her, as she said, in a low tone, 'Quite happy.'
'But Kate,' said her father, placing an arm about her waist, while he put back her hair with his other hand, and looked anxiously in her face, 'you don't say happy, as in old times.'
Kate was silent. What could she say, when her young heart was breaking? But at last she did say:
'It certainly will make me happier, much happier, than I have been, to know that you are once more yourself; that that evil, daring man has lost his influence over you, never to regain it; and that there is nothing to harrass you and break you down, as there once was. All this makes me quite happy. Indeed it does!' But there was that in her tone which belied her words, and Rhoneland observed it.
'Ah! child, child!' said he, shaking his head sorrowfully. 'I see it all. Ned Somers has much to answer for. I loved and trusted him. God forgive him that he meditated so vile a wrong! He was to me as my own son. Had he loved you, Kate, openly and honorably as a man should, and as you deserve to be loved, and had he asked you from me, I would not have said no, Kate. But he acted like a villain; and I've cast him off forever.'
Kate became very pale, and her voice grew thick and husky, as she asked: 'Father, will you answer me a question?'
'Yes Kate, a hundred,' said he, drawing her more closely to him. 'I'll sit here all day long, and answer you. Now that he is gone, I feel quite young and boyish again; and nothing gladdens me more than your voice. Now go on. What is it?'
The girl took his hand in both her's, and looking steadily in his face, asked: 'Who told you the tale which set you against Ned?'
'Who?' inquired Rhoneland; 'who? Why, he—Rust.'