You know me; that I cannot think one thing and say another." "Yes, I know you very well--go on--ay, and so does your unfortunate step-mother." "Oh--well!" she replied--"yes, I suppose so--ha! ha!" In a moment, however, her face became softened with deep feeling; "O, father," she proceeded, "maybe you don't know me, nor she either; it's only now I'm beginnin' to know myself.

But listen--I have often observed your countenance, father--I have often marked it well.

I can see by you when you are pleased or angry--but that's aisy; I can tell, too, when the bad spirit is up in you by the pale face but black look that scarcely any one could mistake.

I have seen every thing bad, father, in your face--bad temper, hatred, revenge--an' but seldom any thing good.
Father, I'm your daughter, an' don't be angry!" "What, in the devil's name, are you drivin' at, you brazen jade ?" "Father, you said this mornin', before you came out, that you felt your conscience troublin' you for not discoverin' the murdher of Sullivan; that you felt sorry for keepin' it to yourself so long--sorry!--you said you were sorry, father!" "I did, and I was." "Father, I have been thinkin' of that since; no, father--your words were false; there was no sorrow in your face, nor in your eye,--no, father, nor in your heart.

I know that--I feel it.