"You needn't be afraid, Mr. Cosway; Miss Restall will not leave England. Your enemy is all-powerful. Your enemy's object could only be to provoke you into planning an elopement--and, your arrangements once completed, to inform Mr. Restall, and to part you and Miss Adela quite as effectually as if you were at opposite ends of the world. Oh, you will undoubtedly be parted!
Spiteful, isn't it? And, what is worse, the mischief is as good as done already."Cosway rose from his chair.
"Do you wish for any further explanation?" asked Miss Benshaw.
"One thing more," he replied. "Does Adela know of this?""No," said Miss Benshaw; "it is left to you to tell her."There was a moment of silence. Cosway looked at the lamp. Once roused, as usual with men of his character, his temper was not to be trifled with.
"Miss Benshaw," he said, "I dare say you think me a fool; but Ican draw my own conclusion, for all that. _You_ are my enemy."The only reply was a chuckling laugh. All voices can be more or less effectually disguised by a whisper but a laugh carries the revelation of its own identity with it. Cosway suddenly threw off the shade over the lamp and turned up the wick.