"Go, child.

I am grievously wounded.

I have the fever, girl.

Go; let me sleep." "But tell me, father, what passed." "Unnatural child," whined Gregory feebly, "will you plague a sick man with questions?
Would you keep him from the sleep that may mean recovery to him ?" "Father, dear," she murmured softly, "if I thought it was as you say, I would leave you.

But you know that you are but attempting to conceal something from me something that I should know, that I must know.
Bethink you that it is of my lover that you have spoken." By a stupendous effort Gregory shaped a story that to him seemed likely.
"Well, then, since know you must," he answered, "this is what befell: we had all drunk over-deep to our shame do I confess it--and growing tenderhearted for you, and bethinking me of your professed distaste to Kenneth's suit, I told him that for all the results that were likely to attend his sojourn at Castle Marleigh, he might as well bear Crispin company in his departure.