"This is well done of you, sir, to corrupt my servants, and entermy house unbidden and in secret, like a thief!" said Mr Haredale.
"Leave it, sir, and return no more."
"Miss Haredale"s presence," returned the young man, "and yourrelationship to her, give you a licence which, if you are a braveman, you will not abuse. You have compelled me to this course,and the fault is yours--not mine."
"It is neither generous, nor honourable, nor the act of a trueman, sir," retorted the other, "to tamper with the affections of aweak, trusting girl, while you shrink, in your unworthiness, fromher guardian and protector, and dare not meet the light of day.
More than this I will not say to you, save that I forbid you thishouse, and require you to be gone."
"It is neither generous, nor honourable, nor the act of a true manto play the spy," said Edward. "Your words imply dishonour, and Ireject them with the scorn they merit."
"You will find," said Mr Haredale, calmly, "your trusty go-betweenin waiting at the gate by which you entered. I have played nospy"s part, sir. I chanced to see you pass the gate, andfollowed. You might have heard me knocking for admission, had youbeen less swift of foot, or lingered in the garden. Please towithdraw. Your presence here is offensive to me and distressful tomy niece." As he said these words, he passed his arm about thewaist of the terrified and weeping girl, and drew her closer tohim; and though the habitual severity of his manner was scarcelychanged, there was yet apparent in the action an air of kindnessand sympathy for her distress.
"Mr Haredale," said Edward, "your arm encircles her on whom I haveset my every hope and thought, and to purchase one minute"shappiness for whom I would gladly lay down my life; this house isthe casket that holds the precious jewel of my existence. Yourniece has plighted her faith to me, and I have plighted mine toher. What have I done that you should hold me in this lightesteem, and give me these discourteous words?"
"You have done that, sir," answered Mr Haredale, "which must heundone. You have tied a lover"-knot here which must be cutasunder. Take good heed of what I say. Must. I cancel the bondbetween ye. I reject you, and all of your kith and kin--all thefalse, hollow, heartless stock."
"High words, sir," said Edward, scornfully.
"Words of purpose and meaning, as you will find," replied theother. "Lay them to heart."
"Lay you then, these," said Edward. "Your cold and sullen temper,which chills every breast about you, which turns affection intofear, and changes duty into dread, has forced us on this secretcourse, repugnant to our nature and our wish, and far more foreign,sir, to us than you. I am not a false, a hollow, or a heartlessman; the character is yours, who poorly venture on these injuriousterms, against the truth, and under the shelter whereof I remindedyou just now. You shall not cancel the bond between us. I willnot abandon this pursuit. I rely upon your niece"s truth andhonour, and set your influence at nought. I leave her with aconfidence in her pure faith, which you will never weaken, and withno concern but that I do not leave her in some gentler care."
With that, he pressed her cold hand to his lips, and once moreencountering and returning Mr Haredale"s steady look, withdrew.
A few words to Joe as he mounted his horse sufficiently explainedwhat had passed, and renewed all that young gentleman"s despondencywith tenfold aggravation. They rode back to the Maypole withoutexchanging a syllable, and arrived at the door with heavy hearts.
Old John, who had peeped from behind the red curtain as they rodeup shouting for Hugh, was out directly, and said with greatimportance as he held the young man"s stirrup,"He"s comfortable in bed--the best bed. A thorough gentleman; thesmilingest, affablest gentleman I ever had to do with."
"Who, Willet?" said Edward carelessly, as he dismounted.
"Your worthy father, sir," replied John. "Your honourable,venerable father."
"What does he mean?" said Edward, looking with a mixture of alarmand doubt, at Joe.
"What DO you mean?" said Joe. "Don"t you see Mr Edward doesn"tunderstand, father?"
"Why, didn"t you know of it, sir?" said John, opening his eyeswide. "How very singular! Bless you, he"s been here ever sincenoon to-day, and Mr Haredale has been having a long talk with him,and hasn"t been gone an hour."
"My father, Willet!"
"Yes, sir, he told me so--a handsome, slim, upright gentleman, ingreen-and-gold. In your old room up yonder, sir. No doubt youcan go in, sir," said John, walking backwards into the road andlooking up at the window. "He hasn"t put out his candles yet, Isee."
Edward glanced at the window also, and hastily murmuring that hehad changed his mind--forgotten something--and must return toLondon, mounted his horse again and rode away; leaving the Willets,father and son, looking at each other in mute astonishment.