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“Then he stood up and I thought he was going to curse me, but he did not curse me, he cursed you instead. Oh! he used awful, fearful words, and when they were over he fell down in a sort of fit. He got better after a little, and since then has not breathed your name. I do not know what he would do if he really knew that you and I were sitting here together.”

Rowton’s face looked disturbed while Nancy was speaking.

“Your father must have been off his head,” he said after a pause.

“No,” she replied, “his brain is sane enough.”

“He must have been off his head for the time at least,” repeated her lover; “nothing else could account for words so purposeless and wild. They are not worth your grave consideration; do not fret, sweetheart, such words can make no difference to us. You don’t suppose that I will part from the most precious thing in all the world because an old man’s brain has suddenly given way.”

“If I really thought that,” said Nancy Follett.

“What else could it be? but now don’t let us waste our time talking about it; you are mine and I am yours if fifty old men choose to go mad on the subject. Now, I must see that my wild bird does not wear herself out; you must have food, you shall have it; is there no one helping you to nurse your father?”