But Hope was no posture-maker; he turned the next moment and said a word or two to all present.

“Yes, this is Grace Hope, my daughter.  We were very poor, and her life was in danger; I saw nothing else but that; my love was stronger than my conscience; I gave her to that man upon a condition which he has now broken.  He saved her life and was kind to her.  I thanked him; I thank him still, and I did my best to repay him.  But now he has trusted to appearances, and not to her; he has belied and outraged her publicly.  But I am as proud of her as ever, and don’t believe appearances against her character and her angel face and—­”

“No more do I,” cried Julia Clifford, eagerly.  “I know her.  She’s purity itself, and a better woman than I shall ever be.”

“Thank you, Miss Clifford,” said Hope, in a broken voice; “God bless you.  Come, Grace, and share my humble home.  At all events, it will shelter you from insult.”

And so the pair went lovingly away, Grace clinging to her father, comforted for the moment, but unable to speak, and entered Hope’s little cottage.  It was but a stone’s-throw from where they stood.

This broke up the party.

“And my house is yours,” said Colonel Clifford to Julia.  “I did not believe appearances against a Clifford.”  With these words he took two steps toward his niece and held out his arm.  She moved toward him.  Percy came forward radiant to congratulate her.  She drew up with a look of furious scorn that made him recoil, and she marched proudly away with her uncle.  He bestowed one parting glance of contempt upon the discomfited Bartley, and marched his niece proudly off, more determined than ever that she should be his daughter.  But for once he was wise enough not to press that topic:  he let her indignation work alone.  Moreover, though he was a little wrong-headed and not a little pig-headed, he was a noble-minded man, and nothing noble passed him unobserved or unappreciated.

“That Bartley’s daughter!” said he to Julia.  “Ay, when roses spring from dunghills, and eagles are born of sparrow-hawks.  Brave girl!—­brave girl!”

“Oh, uncle,” said Julia, “I am so glad you appreciate her!”

“Appreciate her!” said the Colonel; “what should I be worth if I did not?  Why, these are the women that win Waterloo in the persons of their sons.  That girl could never breed a coward nor a cheat.”  Then his incisive voice mellowed suddenly.  “Poor young thing,” said he, with manly emotion, “I saw her come out of that room pale as death to do another woman justice.  She’s no fool, though that ruffian called her one.  She knew what she was doing, yet for all her woman’s heart she faced disgrace as unflinchingly as if it was, only death.  It was a great action, a noble action, a just action, and a manly action, but done like a very woman.  Where the two sexes meet like that in one brave deed it’s grand.  I declare it warms an old soldier’s heart, and makes him thank God there are a few creatures in the world that do humanity honor.”