“Hold your peace, madam,” said he. “When called upon to speak, you will find your words with difficulty enough. Sir, I am waiting for an answer from you.”
“But, uncle, he is nothing to me;—the gentleman is nothing to me!”
“By the heavens above us, he shall be something, or I will know the reason why! What! he has gone off with you; he has travelled through the country with you, hiding you from your only natural friend; he has been your companion for weeks—”
“Six days, sir,” said I.
“Sir!” said the baronet, again giving me the lie. “And now,” he continued, addressing his niece, “you tell me that he is nothing to you. He shall give me his promise that he will make you his wife at the consulate at Alexandria, or I will destroy him. I know who he is.”
“If you know who I am,” said I, “you must know—”
But he would not listen to me. “And as for you, madam, unless he makes me that promise—” And then he paused in his threat, and, turning round, looked me in the face. I saw that she also was looking at me, though not openly as he did; and some flattering devil that was at work round my heart, would have persuaded that she also would have heard a certain answer given without dismay,—would even have received comfort in her agony from such an answer. But the reader knows how completely that answer was out of my power.
“I have not the slightest ground for supposing,” said I, “that the lady would accede to such an arrangement,—if it were possible. My acquaintance with her has been altogether confined to—. To tell the truth, I have not been in Miss Weston’s confidence, and have only taken her for that which she has seemed to be.”
“Sir!” said the baronet, again looking at me as though he would wither me on the spot for my falsehood.
“It is true!” said Julia, getting up from her seat, and appealing with clasped hands to her uncle—“as true as Heaven.”