"But papa drew back, I could hear, in a perfect frenzy of rage,
astonishment, and terror.

"'Richard Wharton!' he hissed out between his teeth, springing away
like one stung. 'Richard Wharton come back! You liar! You sneak!
He's dead this twenty years! You're trying to frighten me.'

"I never meant to overhear your conversation. But at that, it was so
strange, I drew back and cowered even closer. I was afraid of papa's
voice. I was afraid of his rage. He spoke just like a man who was
ready to murder you.

"Then you began to talk with papa about strange things that
astonished me--strange things that I only half understood just then,
but that by the light of what you've told me to-day I quite
understand now--the history of my real father.

"'I'm no liar,' you answered. 'Richard Wharton has come back. And by
the aid of what he's disclosed, I know the whole truth. The girl you
call your daughter, and whose money you've stolen, is not yours at
all. She's Richard Wharton's daughter Mary!'

"Papa staggered back a pace or two, and came quite close to the
screen. I cowered behind it in alarm. I could see he was terrified.
For a minute or two you talked with him, and urged him to confess.
Bit by bit, as you went on, he recovered his nerve, and began to
bluster. He didn't deny what you said: he saw it was no use: he just
sneered and prevaricated.

"As I listened to his words, I saw he admitted it all. A great