“Stop, pa,” interposed his daughter, alarmed at his appearance and manner.  “Do stop—­let me go,” “No—­no!” said the old man wildly, seizing her by the dress to detain her—­“you must not go—­that would never do!  He might tell her,” he muttered to himself—­“No, no—­I’ll go!”—­and thus speaking, he made another ineffectual attempt to reach the door.

“Dear father! do let me go!” she repeated, imploringly.  “You are incapable of seeing any one—­let me inquire what he wants!” she added, endeavouring to loose his hold upon her dress.

“No—­you shall not!” he replied, clutching her dress still tighter, and endeavouring to draw her towards him.

“Oh, father!” she asked distractedly, “what can this mean?  Here,” said she, addressing the servant, who stood gazing in silent wonder on this singular scene, “help my father into his chair again, and then tell this strange man to wait awhile.”

The exhausted man, having been placed in his chair, motioned to his daughter to close the door behind the servant, who had just retired.

“He wants money,” said he, in a whisper—­“he wants money!  He’ll make beggars of us all—­and yet I’ll have to give him some.  Quick! give me my cheque-book—­let me give him something before he has a chance to talk to any one—­quick! quick!”

The distracted girl wrung her hands with grief at what she imagined was a return of her father’s malady, and exclaimed, “Oh! if George only would remain at home—­it is too much for me to have the care of father whilst he is in such a state.”  Then pretending to be in search of the cheque-book, she turned over the pamphlets and papers upon his desk, that she might gain time, and think how it was best to proceed.

Whilst she was thus hesitating, the door of the room was suddenly opened, and a shabbily dressed man, bearing a strong odour of rum about him, forced his way into the apartment, saying, “I will see him.  D——­n it, I don’t care haporth how sick he is—­let me go, or by the powers I’ll murther some of yes.”  The old man’s face was almost blanched with terror when he heard the voice and saw the abrupt entry of the intruder.  He sprang from the chair with a great effort, and then, unable to sustain himself, sunk fainting on the floor.

“Oh, you have killed my father—­you have killed my father!  Who are you, and what do you want, that you dare thrust yourself upon him in this manner?” said she, stooping to assist in raising him; “cannot you see he is entirely unfit for any business?”

Mr. Stevens was replaced in his chair, and water thrown in his face to facilitate his recovery.