"I am her protector at the present moment, Sir Henry. What passed between us long since has been now forgotten. But we are still cousins; and while she wants protection, I shall give it to her."
"Oh, you will; will you?"
"Certainly. I look upon her as though she were my sister. She has no other brother."
"That's very kind of you, and very complaisant of her. But what if I say that I don't choose that she should have any such brother? Perhaps you think that as I am only her husband, I ought not to have any voice in the matter?"
"I do not suppose that you can care for her much, after the word you once used to her."
"And what the devil is it to you what word I used to her? That's the tack you go on, is it? Now, I'll tell you fairly what I shall do. I will wait till the breath is out of that old man's body, and then I shall take my wife out of this house—by force, if force be necessary." And so saying, Sir Henry turned to the front door, and took his departure, without making any further adieu.
"What dreadful trouble we shall have!" whimpered Miss Baker, almost in tears.
Things went on at Hadley for three days longer without any change, except that Mr. Bertram became weaker, and less inclined to speak. On the third morning, he did say a few words:—"George, I begin to think I have done wrong about you; but I fear it is too late."
His nephew declared that he was sure that things would turn out well, muttering any platitude which might quiet the dying man.
"But it is too late, isn't it?"