It seemed to Faith natural that her father should be affected by the
death of the fisherman, who, after saving his life, had perished in
the attempt to bring rescue, although she thought his expressions
exaggerated. She felt pained at his self-reproaches, but doubted not
that soon the keenness of regret would lose its edge. In order the
sooner, therefore, to produce this result, she attempted to divert his
thoughts into another channel.

"You are unjust to yourself, father," she said. "How many are there to
bless you for charities known only to themselves and you?"

"Mention them not, Faith, crumbs from my superfluity, like those that
fell from the other rich man's table. Besides, of what avail will
any charities, as you call them, of mine be? They will serve only to
convey the curse that attaches itself to me. I tremble to think you
are my daughter."

"And I," said Faith, "can never be thankful enough for having such
a father. Ah, how happy we might be, if you would only banish these
fancies from your mind!"

"Thus it is," said Armstrong. "Did I not say right? Like an evil
spirit I scatter only gloom around one. I will remove a presence that
blasts whatever it meets."

So saying he rose, and in spite of the tearful entreaties of his
daughter, walked into the hall, and taking his great coat from the
hook that held it, put it on and passed into the street.

Faith, upon his departure, sunk into a chair, and allowed free