dead and dying."

"Is Mr. Bullion that short man, father, with the cold eyes and gruff
voice, and the queer eyebrow which he seems to poke at people?"

"Yes, my daughter, that is the man."

"Well, I'm sure, he is coarse, disagreeable, hard-hearted. I'm glad you
are not under obligations to him."

"My only regret is that I had the mortification of being refused. I wish
I had never asked him. I can't think of his look and tone without a pang
of shame, or wounded pride, if you choose to call it so, harder to
bear than a blow in the face. I had a claim upon his gratitude, but he
remembers a favor no more than a wolf does the mutton he ate a year
ago.--But enough of business. The bitterness has passed since we have
talked together. Let us be cheerful. Come, Clara, sing some of those
sweet old ballads!"

From her infancy until now in her twentieth year, Clara had been
constantly with her father,--but she had never known him before.


CHAPTER XX.


Early next morning the officer in charge of Mr. Sandford's house was
relieved by a brother constable. Number Two was a much more civil person
in speech and manner than Number One; in fact, he speedily made himself
so agreeable to the housemaid that she brought him a cup of coffee, and