"You have not answered my question. Until I know who and what she is, I have no ears for a romantic story."
Sir Aymer was trembling from head to foot, and his voice sounded like the muttering of distant thunder.
"Her father is an innkeeper in the Black Forest," blurted out Guy at last.
Sir Aymer turned nearly black in the face: his voice was now quite gone, and he stamped his foot and shook his fists more like a madman than a sober baronet of the nineteenth century.
At last he pulled out his pocket-book, opened it with blundering, shaking hands, and drew out a bank note.
"Take that," he shouted, "and go!"
Guy tried to remonstrate, but he might as well have talked to the wind, which at that moment rose with a long wild moan, as if of sorrow.
Sir Aymer thrust the note into his son's pocket, and turning sharp round entered the hall. A servant stood there waiting.
"Bid them bring the carriage round again. Have Mr. Guy's luggage put in, and let it follow him to the East Lodge. Leave the house, sir; I will never see your face, nor speak your name again!"
He walked through the hall and disappeared; and almost at the same moment, his older son came in, having been watching the scene from the window of another room.