"Don't cry, daughter," said the wounded man, faintly, "I deserve to be
shot by you--I haven't wronged any one else half so much as I have you."

Again the wounded man received a shower of kisses, and hot tears fell
rapidly upon his face.

"Arrest me--take me back--send me to State's prison," continued the man;
"nobody has so good a right. Then I'll feel as if your mother was
honestly avenged. I'll feel better if you'll promise to do it."

"Father, dear," said the sheriff, "I might have suspected it was
you--oh! if I _had_ have done! But I thought--I hoped I had got away
from the roach of the cursed business for ever. I've endured
everything--I've nearly died of loneliness, to avoid it, and then to
think that I should have hurt my own father."

"You're your mother's own daughter, Nellie," said the counterfeiter; "it
takes all the pain away to know that I haven't ruined _you_--that _some_
member of my wretched family is honest. I'd be happy in a prisoner's box
if I could look at you and feel that you put me there."

"You sha'n't be made happy in that way," said the sheriff. I've got you
again, and I'm going to keep you to myself. I'll nurse you here--you say
that nobody ever found this hut but--but the gang, and when you're
better the wagon shall take us both to some place where we can live or
starve together. The county can get another sheriff easy enough."

"And they'll suspect you of being in league with counterfeiters," said
the father.