Seth Dumbrick, sitting in the old cellar in which it seemed likely he would end his days, was the subject of Sally's anxious observance, as she sat opposite to him, busy with her needle. Sally, in addition to the performance of her household duties, played no unimportant part in providing for the domestic necessities of the establishment, and the seven or eight shillings a week she contrived by hard labour to earn was an important item to Seth, whose trade had fallen off considerably during the past few years.

Sally was a full-grown woman now, looking older than her years; but her nature was unchanged, and her devotion to the Duchess was as perfect as on the day when the girl was brought, almost an infant, to her mother's house. That was a happy time in her remembrance of it, far different from the present, which was full of trouble.

Seth Dumbrick's thoughts, to judge from his manner, were harassing and perplexing, and the cloud in his face was reflected on Sally's, as now and again she raised her eyes from her work to observe him. She knew the groove in which his thoughts were running; it was a familiar one to both of them, and they could not see a clear way through it. Any time during the last five or six years it would have been a safe venture to guess, when they were sitting together, as they were sitting now, that their thoughts were fixed upon the theme which now occupied their minds.

Silence had reigned in the cellar for fully half-an-hour, and even then it was not broken until Seth, rising from his seat, stood for a few moments before the fire, with his hands clasped at the back of his neck.

"There is but one way out of it, Sally," said Seth.

Sally instantly gave him her whole attention, and by a sharp glance indicated that all her wits were at his service.

"There is but one way out of it," he repeated, "and there's danger in that way. But it's a matter of duty, and it's got to be done. Supposing there was no duty in it, and no love, it's the only course, as it seems to me, left open to us."

He spoke slowly and with deliberation, as though, after long inward communing, he had settled upon a plan, and was determined to carry it out.

"It's now--ah, how many years ago is it, Sally, since you came into my cellar and fell into a trance?"

"I can't count 'em, Daddy. It seems a lifetime."

"Sixteen years it is. You were a little brown berry, then, with not an ounce of flesh on your bones, sharp as a needle, and with a mind ten times as old as your body." He bent over and kissed her, and tears glistened in her eyes. "And our Duchess was as like a bright angel in a dream as man's imagination can compass. I was a strong man then, a strong lonely man, with nothing much to look forward to, and with nothing outside my grisly self to love. Sixteen years ago it was. It seems a lifetime to you, you say, Sally. And it was only yesterday that I was a boy!"

He brushed the sentiment away with a light wave of his hand.

"As we grow older, Sally, things that were far apart come nearer; that is, when we get to a certain age--my age. Then the young days, that appeared so far away, begin to creep towards us, nearer and nearer, until the man of seventy and the boy of ten are very close together. With some old men, I don't doubt, it might be said that they die in their cradles. Is that beyond you, Sally?"

"A little, Daddy. I can't understand it; but you're right, of course,"

"Not to wander too far away," continued Seth, with a faint laugh, "it is sixteen years since you and the Duchess came to me, and that I undertook a responsibility. Keep a tight hold of that word, Sally; I'm coming back to it presently. You haven't much more flesh on your bones now than you had then, but you're grown pretty considerable, and you're a woman. Sally, if I had a son, I shouldn't mind your marrying him."

"Thank you, Daddy."

"But you can't marry a shadow; it wouldn't be satisfactory. Well, you're a woman grown up. I'm a man, growing down; my hair's nearly white, and that's the last colour, my girl. It seems to me that I'm pretty well as strong as I was; but I know that's a delusion. Nature has set lines, and the man that snaps his fingers at 'em, or disregards 'em, is a fool. And I'm not one, eh, Sally?"

He laughed faintly again; but there was a notable lack of heartiness in the small flashes of humour which occasionally lighted up his speech. It would have been more in accordance with his serious mood had they not been introduced; but habit is a master, not a servant.

"So much for you and me, Sally. There's another of more consequence than both of us--our Duchess. When I first set my eyes on her, I thought I'd never in all my life seen so beautiful a picture. We had plenty of happy days then; and we must never forget how much we owe her. We should have been a dull couple, you and me, without her. She was like light in our dark little room, and when I had troublesome thoughts about me, the sight of her was like the sun breaking through dark clouds. Do you remember, Sally, when she was ill, and you watched over her day and night?"

"You too, Daddy."

"I could do nothing; I had the bread to earn. Dr. Lyon said your nursing, not his medicine, pulled her through; and he was right. Do you remember our holiday in the country--the rides in the wagon, and the rambles by the sea-shore? What pleasure and happiness we enjoyed, Sally, was all through her. I can hardly think of her as anything but a child; but, as I've said, Nature has set her lines; and our Duchess is a woman--the brightest and most beautiful the world contains; and whether that beauty and brightness is going to be a curse or a blessing to her, time alone can tell."

"Not a curse, Daddy!" cried Sally, dropping her face in her hands. "No, no; not a curse!"

"God knows," said Seth, with his hand resting lightly on Sally's shoulder. "If you or me could do anything to make it a blessing we'd do it, if it brought upon us the hardest sacrifice that ever fell upon human beings. I say that of myself, and I know it of you. But I'm a man, with a wider experience than yours, and I can see further. Feeling is one thing, fact is another. To put feeling aside when we talk of our Duchess is out of the question; but let us see how far fact goes, and what it will lead us to." He looked down upon his garments with a curious smile; they were old and patched and patched again. Sally, with apprehension in her glance, followed his observance of himself. Then, with an expression of pity and reverence, he turned to Sally, and touched her frock, which was worn and faded. "Your only frock, Sally," he said.

"What of that?" she exclaimed, with a rebellious ring in her voice. "It's good enough for me."

"We've got to see this through," he returned, taking her hand in his, and patting it so gently that her head drooped before him. "You wouldn't fetch much at Rag Fair, my girl. All that belongs to you, on and off, would fetch, perhaps--three farthings. Now let us look at something else."

"Daddy, Daddy!" she cried, as she walked to the dark end of the cellar; "what are you going to do?"

He replied by dragging forward a trunk, which he placed between Sally and himself. It was locked, and he could not raise the lid. Taking from his pocket a large bunch of keys, he tried them until he found one that fitted the lock.

"I borrowed these keys of the locksmith round the corner," said Seth, as he opened the trunk; "I told him what sort of a trunk it was, and he said I'd be sure to find a key in this lot to fit it."

The trunk was filled with clothes. Before laying his hand upon them, Seth, with a steady look at Sally, said:

"I doubt, Sally, whether there's anybody in the world you know better than you know me."

"There is no one, Daddy."

"It has been a pleasure to me to believe that you love me."

"There's only one I love better than you, Daddy.'

"Our Duchess."

"Yes."

"But in addition to love, you have some other feeling with respect to me. Shall I try to put it in words?"

"If you please, Daddy."

"From what you know of me, you know I would not be guilty of a mean or dirty action. You know that I would sooner have my hands cut off than give anyone the power to say, 'Seth Dumbrick, you are a scoundrel and a sneak.'"

"I am certain of it, Daddy."

"Well, then. Don't you think anything like that of me because of what I'm doing now. Sally, I'm doing my duty. I'm doing what will perhaps save our Duchess from what both you and me are frightened to speak of to each other. If this man that she's keeping company with--this gentleman, as she's spoken of at odd times, when I've tried to coax her to confide in me--this gentleman that meets her secretly, and is ashamed or afraid to show his face to me that stands in the light of a father to the girl he's following--if this gentleman is a gentleman (though his conduct don't say that much for him), and means fairly and honourably by our girl, then all's well. But I've got to satisfy myself of that. I should deserve the hardest things that could be said of me if I let our child walk blindly into a pit--if I, by holding back, assisted to make her beauty a curse instead of a blessing to her. Do you understand me?"

"I think I do."

"If," said Seth, with a tender animation in his voice, "this gentleman wants to marry her, and sets it down as a hard and fast consideration, that she should tear herself away from those wh............