'I suppose that you have never met your uncle before?' said she, after a
few minutes of embarrassed silence.

'Never,' answered I.

'Well, what do you think of him now you _have_ met him?'

Such a question from a daughter about her father filled me with a
certain vague horror. I felt that he must be even a worse man than I
had taken him for if he had so completely forfeited the loyalty of his
own nearest and dearest.

'Your silence is a sufficient answer,' said she, as I hesitated for a
reply. 'I do not know how you came to meet him last night, or what
passed between you, for we do not share each other's confidences.
I think, however, that you have read him aright. Now I have something
to ask you. You had a letter from him inviting you to leave England and
to come here, had you not?'

'Yes, I had.'

'Did you observe nothing on the outside?'

I thought of those two sinister words which had puzzled me so much.

'What! it was you who warned me not to come?'

'Yes, it was I. I had no other means of doing it.'

'But why did you do it?'