He rose to his feet, for they had been sitting side by side on the
sofa while they talked. She sprang up also, and clinging to his arm,
looked beseechingly into his face, pleading in a hoarse whisper,
"Papa, you will let me see him, speak to him once more?--just a few
words--in your presence--oh, papa!"

"No, my darling, no; his touch, his breath, are contamination; his
very look is pollution, and shall never rest upon you again if I can
prevent it. Remember you are never to hold any communication with him
again--by word, letter, or in any other way; I positively forbid it;
you must never look at him, or intentionally allow him a sight of your
face. I must go now, and send him away." He held her to his heart as
he spoke; his tone was affectionate, but very firm, and decided; he
kissed her tenderly, two or three times, placed her in an easy-chair,
saying, "Stay here till I come to you," and left the room.

For a moment she lay back against the cushions like one stunned by a
heavy blow; then, roused by the sound of the voices of the two she
loved best on earth, started and leaned forward in a listening
attitude, straining her ear to catch their words. Few of them reached
her, but her father's tones were cold and haughty, Egerton's at first
persuasive, then loud, angry, and defiant.

He was gone, she had heard the last echo of his departing footsteps,
and again her father bent over her, his face full of tender pity. She
lifted her sad face to his, with the very look that had taunted him
for years, that he could never recall without a pang of regret and
remorse--that pleading, mournful gaze with which she had parted from
him in the time of their estrangement.