Looking at her he saw her, with a face quite strange to him, shrinking back against the wall, with her hands before her eyes.
'Father, don't! I can't bear to see you striking with it.

Put it down!' He looked at the knife; but in his astonishment still held it.
'Father, it's too horrible.

O put it down, put it down!' Confounded by her appearance and exclamation, he tossed it away, and stood up with his open hands held out before him.
'What's come to you, Liz?
Can you think I would strike at you with a knife ?' 'No, father, no; you would never hurt me.' 'What should I hurt ?' 'Nothing, dear father.

On my knees, I am certain, in my heart and soul I am certain, nothing! But it was too dreadful to bear; for it looked--' her hands covering her face again, 'O it looked--' 'What did it look like ?' The recollection of his murderous figure, combining with her trial of last night, and her trial of the morning, caused her to drop at his feet, without having answered.
He had never seen her so before.

He raised her with the utmost tenderness, calling her the best of daughters, and 'my poor pretty creetur', and laid her head upon his knee, and tried to restore her.