"He loves me!" said Ella, raising up her
head again, her eyes Beaming with a new
hope. "I will try—I will venture. It is
perhaps great presumption in a child; but
my father loves me, and I love him . . ."

Again Clementina shook her head.

"You are so faint-hearted—you are so
discouraging. You give up everything without
an attempt to save yourself or others.
That is your way!" cried Ella, with her own
impetuosity, and some of her old injustice.
Then, seeing sorrow and pain working upon
her sister's face as she spoke thus, she stopped
herself, and cried—"Oh! I am a brute—
worse than a brute—to say this. Dear Cle.,
forgive me; but don't, pray don't discourage
me, when I want all my courage. I will go
—I will go this moment, and speak to my
father . . . '

Clementina pressed her sister's hand as she
started up to go. She feared the effort
would be vain,—vain as those she had herself
made; yet there was no knowing. Ella was
so beautiful, so correct, so eloquent, so prevailing!

She followed her, with her eyes to the door,
with feelings of mingled hope and apprehension.

Down the splendid stairs, with their gilded
balustrades, and carpets of the richest hue
and texture, rushed the impetuous Ella.
Through the hall—all marbles and gilding
—and her hand was upon the lock of the
library door. She was about to turn it, without
reflection; but a sudden fear of intruding
came over her- she paused and knocked.

"Who is there?" exclaimed an irritated
voice from within; "go away—I can see no one
just now."

"It is I, papa—Ella; pray let me come in."

And she opened the door.

He was standing in the middle of the
lofty and magnificent apartment, which was
adorned on every side with pictures in gorgeous
frames; with busts, vases, and highly
ornamented bookcases, fitted with splendidly
bound books—seldom, if ever, opened.
His pale, wan, haggard face, and degraded
figure, formed a fearful contrast to the
splendid scene around him, showing like a
mockery of his misery. A small table, richly
inlaid, stood beside him; in one hand he held
a delicate cup of fine china: in the other, a
small chemist's phial.

He started as she entered, and turned to
her an angry and confused countenance, now
rapidly suffused with a deep crimson flush;
but, as if electrified by a sudden and horrid
suspicion, she rushed forward, and impetuously
seized his shaking arm.

The cup fell to the floor, and was broken
to atoms; but he clenched the phial still faster
in his trembling hand, as he angrily uttered
the words:

"How dare you come in here?"

"Oh! papa-- papa!"—she had lost all other
terror before that of the horrible suspicion
which had seized her—"what are you about?
what is that?" stretching out her arms
passionately, and endeavouring to wrench the
phial from his fingers.

"What are you about? what do you
mean?" he cried, endeavouring to extricate his
hand. "Let me alone—leave me alone! what
are you about? Be quiet, I say, or by ...."
And with the disengaged hand he tore her
fingers from his, and thrust her violently
away.

She staggered, and fell, but caught herself
upon her knees, and flinging her arms round
his, lifted up her earnest imploring face,
crying, "Father—father! papa—papa! for
my sake—for your sake—for all our sakes;
oh, give it me! give it to me!"

"Give you what? what do you mean?
what are you thinking about?" endeavouring
to escape from her clasping arms. "Have
done, and let me alone. Will you have done?
will you let me alone?" fiercely, angrily, endea-
vouring again to push her away.

"No! never—never—never! till you give
me—"

"What?"

"That!"

"That!" he cried. Then, as if recollecting
himself, he endeavoured, as it seemed, to
master his agitation, and said more calmly,
"Let me be, Ella! and if it will be any
satisfaction to you, I will thrust the bottle
into the fire. But, you foolish girl, what do
you gain by closing one exit, when there are
open ten thousand as good?"

Disengaging himself from her relaxing
arms, he walked up to the fire-place, and
thrust the phial between the bars. It broke
as he did so, and there was a strong smell of
bitter almonds. She had risen from her
knees. She followed him, and again laid
that hand upon his arm—that soft, fair hand,
of whose beauty he was wont to be so
proud. It trembled violently now; but as
if impelled with unwonted courage, and
an energy inspired by the occasion, she
ventured upon that which, it was long
since any one ever had presumed to offer
to Julian Winstanley upon a plain-spoken
remonstrance.

"Papa," she said, "promise me that you
will never—never—never again—"

"Do what?"

"Make an attempt upon your life—if I
must speak out," she said, with a spirit that
astonished him.

"Attempt my life! What should I attempt
my life for?" said he, and he glanced round
the scene of luxury which surrounded him.
He was continuing, in a tone of irony—but
it would not do. He sank upon a sofa,
and covering his face with his hands, groaned
—"Yes—yes, Ella! all you say is true. I am
a wretch who is unworthy to—and more—
who will not live." He burst forth at last
with a loud voice; and his hands falling
from his face, displayed a countenance dark