Mr. Delancey sat in his drawing-room conversing with General Delville; whom he was yet allowed to believe he might one day look upon as his son-in-law. The night was dark, and a penetrating, drizzling rain was falling, which rendered the cheerful scene in that vast appartment all the more bright and pleasant.

Suddenly there came a startling ring at the door bell, the sound of which sent the blood in a hot flush to Della's temples, as she sat there quietly between her mother and the General, with her thoughts wandering where they chose, though she seemed to be listening to the conversation.

A servant entered, saying that a gentleman desired to see Mr. Delancey.

"Tell him I am engaged."

"I did so, sir; but he insisted upon seeing you."

"Perhaps some one bringing you news concerning the robbery," suggested Madame D.

"Ah, perhaps so. Show him into the library and tell him I'll be with him in a moment."

Excusing himself to his guest, the merchant sought the library. A tall man, wrapped in a heavy cloak, his hat still on and drawn over his brows, was walking impatiently back and forth across the floor. Mr. Delancey turned his cold eyes upon him earnestly for a moment and withdrew them nervously.

"Mr. Wilkins, I believe?"

"The same, sir."

"And what brings you to my house to-night?"

"That which has never brought me here before, sir, and never will again—business of a strictly private nature."

Mr. Delancey looked somewhat disturbed, but drew a chair beside a large writing-desk, and motioning his visitor to be seated, placed himself in front of him.

"Nothing wrong about the last load of goods? No trouble with the boats, is there, Wilkins?"

"Nothing of the kind, sir; my business, as I told you, is of a strictly private nature."

"Proceed, I am ready to listen."

"And will you, sir, listen to me calmly; and make no sudden outbreaks or disturbance? I hate scenes, even with women, but with men, Heaven defend me!"

"I know of nothing you could say, sir, that would call forth any such ebullitions as you speak of; I am not a man of unnecessary words, as you well know."

"What I have to say can be told in a few words. I would, perhaps, do better to leave it unsaid; but I wish to repair, with what honor I can, a course, which in itself has not, perhaps, been strictly honorable. Do you know, sir, that I love your daughter?"

Mr. Delancey stared at the head clerk for a moment, like a man suddenly struck dumb; then every trace of color vanished from his face.

"My daughter, sir! You surely don't mean Della!"

"Have you, then, another daughter? I mean none other than Miss Della; and I this night come to ask your consent to our union. We have loved long and sincerely, and—"

"How dare you utter such words as these to me? You dare to tell me, that a child of mine has stooped to notice her father's clerk?"

"Aye! not only has one stooped to love a clerk, but has not the other wedded a clerk's daughter? Mr. Delancey, I come to you as man to man; put away the difference of your wealth, and I am as high as yourself; as much a man, as high in station, and more honorable than yourself. Thus I dare to seek your daughter's hand; and crave her father's blessing."

"Have a care, sir, of what you say—more honorable? you dare to tell me that?"

"You know it to be the truth."

The merchant turned slightly pale.

"Mr. Wilkins, you put such a proposition as this you have suggested, merely for—merely to try me; you surely do not, cannot mean it?"

"I mean it all, sir. I am not given to trifling on such matters, and I have come to you like an honest man to ask your child's hand, and gain consent or refusal."

"And Della loves you?"

"If I may believe her words, she does; and I have her sanction to tell this to you."

Mr. Delancey started to his feet.

"And how have you dared, sir, to steal into my child's heart, and rob me of her affections? how have you dared to come like a thief in the night, and steal that heart away? I had never a suspicion of this—never thought of it. Brute that you are, thus to abuse my confidence!"

"Beware of what you say, sir. I have abused no confidence. Had you ever made me a guest at your house, ever treated me as if I had been human, like yourself, this might never have been. At least I would have wooed like an honest man, and your influence with your child might have nipped it in the bud. You must put up with the consequences of your own folly."

"Where have you ever met my daughter?"

"Never in this house, as you well know. Abroad, riding, walking, in spite of duennas and guardians, I have wooed, and won her to myself."

"She must then have deceived you. I am certain she is the betrothed of General Delville, who this moment converses with her in the parlor."

"You, sir, may be the one deceived. Della would not leave you without giving you a knowledge of her love. She bade me come to you, to ask her of you openly, and to tell you all."

"Then, sir, once for all, let me tell you, you talk in vain; never will my pride permit my beautiful child—she whom I have educated and trained to grace the home of the first in our land—to become the humble bride of a hireling clerk. Out upon you, for daring to ask it!"

"And where would be the pride you boast of, should I choose to bruit to the world those tales that I could tell, of long years of practiced deception and guilt on your part—of wealth acquired by fraudulent means—of midnight hours of watchfulness, which have brought you ship-loads of contraband goods—of days and weeks spent in devising means to escape the vigilance of our Government officers, of—"

Wilkins stopped suddenly, for Mr. Delancey fell back in his chair, groaning aloud. The head clerk held a glass of water to his lips, and he slowly recovered, and looked up in his visitor's face with a beseeching glance in his cold gray eyes.

"I am in your power, but spare me! spare me! Have mercy on an old man, who is weak and erring, but whose withered heart clings to his only daughter!"

"You give me your consent?"

"Ask anything but that."

"And you prefer to have your name go forth to the world branded with shame and infamy, rather than give your daughter to an honest man, who will strive to make her a good husband, and whom she already loves?"

Mr. Delancey moaned, and covered his face with his hands.

"Rather would you that men point at you with the finger of scorn—that former friends despise you—that the world look down upon you, and speak your name with scoffing, rather this, than see your child happy with the man of her choice?"

"Yes!" cried the merchant, springing to his feet, "if that man be you, a thousand times, yes! Go; do your worst; cast forth my name like waste-paper on the winds, scourge it, brand, blacken it; do what you will. Though you curse me to the confines of purgatory, my daughter never shall be yours!"

"This is your final decision?"

"My last—leave my house, sir, and never do you dare to darken its doors again."

"You may regret, sir, what you have said to-night," said Wilkins, putting on his hat and cloak.

"I shall always abide by it. Begone, sir! Why do you tarry?"

The folds of the heavy cloak fluttered a moment in the door-way, then passed through it, and disappeared down the long stairs. Through those vast halls, with frowning brow and heavy tread, Bernard Wilkins strode, and the massive door closed after him for the first and last time, and he went forth into the silent streets.