Jennie Arlington’s sorrow had worn off, and had been replaced by a sentiment of anger and bitterness of spirit. That a man like John Elkton should be seized as a common felon, a man of the purest character and unstained reputation, to be thrown into prison on a bare suspicion, seemed an utter outrage.

She was in no mood to appreciate the reasons for this arrest, or to consider the very dubious position in which his refusal to explain placed him. She was angry with her guardian, with the officer, with Mr. Wilson, with every party concerned. Even the unoffending bow shared in this resentment. She would have taken it from her dressing-table and trampled it under foot, but on looking for it, it was gone.

This discovery increased her resentment. Mr. Leonard, then, had entered her room, possessed himself of her lover’s last gift to her, and intended to use it with the hope of convicting him of robbery.

She had been pale and drooping these last few days. He had desisted from asking the cause. He knew it too well, and shrunk from an encounter with grief which he could not relieve.

To-day she was red and blooming, and he ventured to compliment her on the favorable change.

“I am glad to see your color coming back again, Jennie,” he said. “You begin to look like your old self again. I could not bear to see you so cast down as you have been for some days past.”

“I do not think it could have troubled your mind very deeply,” she replied, in a bitter tone.

“Why do you say that, Jennie?” was his surprised rejoinder. “You know that no father could feel more tenderly toward you than I do.”

“I know that no stranger could have done me a deeper wrong than you have done,” she replied, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Such language seems to me utterly uncalled for,” he answered, with a deeply-pained look.

“Why have you thrown John Elkton into prison?” was her unflinching reply.

“It could not be avoided, Jennie. You should know that. He is found with a piece of stolen goods in his possession. He refuses to tell where he obtained it. I am very sorry to have wounded you, but could not act otherwise. If he is innocent, why is he silent?”

“You know he is innocent,” she hotly replied. “There is nothing you know better. You have known him as long as I have, and as well. You know he is innocent.”

“He is a man, with human weaknesses. What do we know of his life, outside of his visits here? We do not know how or where he spends his time, nor who are his associates. He does not see you very frequently.”

“You will hint next that he is deceiving me,” was her hot answer. “He visits me as often as he can, and I have perfect faith in his love and his honesty.”

“I cannot help doubting him, Jennie,” he replied.

“Doubt him!” she cried. “And is a mere doubt warrant enough for you to take such action, to injure and disgrace him, to wound me so deeply? You doubt him! If you had seen your goods in his possession it would not have given you the right to doubt him without further proof.”

“They were found in his possession,” he replied, hotly as herself. “He was found making presents of them. And as for further proof we have it in his silence. If he is innocent why does he refuse to clear himself?”

“I don’t know. He has good reasons for it. If guilty why did he give me that silk, and so bring it directly before your eyes?”

“I did not consider that,” he said, thoughtfully.

“You did not consider anything,” was her bitter reply. “You acted as hastily as if he had been an utter stranger, and caught in the act of robbery.”

“I think we had better close this conversation,” he mildly answered. “You are hot and passionate now. When you are cooler you can better appreciate my action.”

“I appreciate it now,” she replied, more hotly still. “Not content with having him seized as a felon you must enter my room, search among my things, carry off that miserable bow, make me a party to this base persecution of my lover. Why did you not ask me for the silk?”

“I took it from your table, where it lay conspicuously. I did not deem it necessary to ask you. Nor do I like such language as this.”

“You have laid yourself open to it by your action,” she answered, pacing the floor with an excitement that would not let her keep still. “I will cling to my lover, sir, whatever you do with him. You cannot turn me against him. He is an innocent, injured man. And I will not be made a party to this vile persecution. I demand a return of the bow that was taken from my room without my knowledge.”

“You cannot have it,” he replied, his cheek flushed with anger. “It is in the hands of the authorities, and there it must remain as evidence.”

“You have robbed me, and I will not submit to it,” she passionately replied. “You have shown your hand fully, and established yourself as my declared enemy. I can no longer remain under your roof. Two houses must hold us from this henceforth. I cast my lot with John Elkton. I will be true to him whatever betide, and a foe to his foes.”

“Now, child, you are talking pure nonsense,” said Mr. Leonard, gravely. “I cannot consent to any such madness. It would look well, indeed, to let you seem as if driven from my house.”

“There would be no seeming about it. I am driven from your house. I have stayed in it as long as my self-respect will permit.”

“You are my ward. My child in the law. I will not consent to your going.”

“I am a woman, and mistress of my actions. I will go.”

“This is madness, girl. Go where? What is to become of you? Who is to take care of you?”

“I am not friendless, sir. I can find refuge with people who will consider me before their own self-interest.”

“You must not, you shall not act like a spoiled child!” he said, vigorously. “I never thought that you would accuse me of lack of interest in you. I that have done so much for you, far more than you know or conjecture. If you knew all you would not treat me so.”

“If I knew all! What is there for me to know?”

“I cannot tell you now, Jennie. I have been more a friend to you than you imagine, and it pains me to have you turn on me in that way. I am more than your guardian. There is a secret connected with your life which I have been charged to reveal when you came of age.”

“A secret! A disgraceful secret!” she cried. “How could I, a child, have incurred any disgrace? What is this secret? I am not afraid of it. These half-revealings are tenfold worse than silence. Does it affect my father?”

“Your father. He was an honorable man. There is no whisper against him.”

“My father! You emphasize this as if he was not my father. I demand to know what you mean by these innuendoes. It is not fair, sir, to revenge yourself on my just indignation by such an insinuation as this.”

“I have said too much, Jennie. More than I thought of saying at this time. I withdraw it all.”

“Withdraw!” she cried, with a scornful accent. “You cannot withdraw a storm that has been let loose. Silence now is worse than the truth. Who is my father and what has he done to disgrace me? I must have an answer.”

“I did not speak of disgrace. There are misfortunes that are no disgrace.”

“What misfortune, then?”

“I will say no more now. I have said too much already. Some day when you are cooler, and will not think me revengeful I will tell you to what I allude.”

“And meanwhile leave me to miserable conjectures,” she said, sinking wearily in her chair.

“You have no occasion for it. Dismiss this matter from your mind for the present. But you must give up your foolish idea of leaving my house.”

“You have driven me to it,” she said, flushing up again.

“You are blinding yourself now, Jennie, and wronging me.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything!” she cried passionately. “I only know that my lover is in prison, that he is innocent, and that you have placed him there. I know no more, and can bear no more now.”

With a hasty movement she rose and left the room, her face haunting him with its pain and reproach.