horror came over me. Then my life was one long lie! He was never my
father. He had concocted a vile plot. He had held me in this slavery
so many years to suit his own purposes. He had crushed my mother to
death, and robbed me of my birthright. Even before that night, I
never loved him. I thought it very wicked of me, but I never could
love him. As he spoke to you and grew cynical, I began to loathe and
despise him. I can't tell you how great a comfort it was to me to
know--to hear from his own lips I was not that man's daughter.

"At last, after many recriminations, he looked across at you, and
said, half laughing, for he was quite himself again by that time:

"'This is all very fine, Courtenay Ivor--all very fine in its way;
but how are you going to prove it? that's the real question. Do you
think any jury in England will believe, on your unsupported oath,
such a cock-and-bull story? Do you think, even if Richard Wharton's
come back, and you've got him on your side, I can't cross-examine
all the life out of his body?'

"At that you said gravely--wanting to touch his conscience, I
suppose:--

"'Richard Wharton's come back, but you can't cross-examine him. For
Richard Wharton died some six or eight weeks since at my cottage at
Babbicombe, after revealing to me all this vile plot against himself
and his daughter.'

"Then papa drew back with a loud laugh--a hateful laugh like a
demon's. I can't help calling him papa still, though it pains me
even to think of him. That loud laugh rings still in my ears to this