A slight embarrassment was evidenced in her countenance as I made this request. It vanished speedily.
"He is absent just at this time," she answered, quickly. "When he returns I will make known your wish to him, if, indeed, he does not call of his own accord."
"Be done with this shallow farce," I exclaimed, harshly. "It shames humanity. Acknowledge yourself at once the faithful agent of a tyrant and felon, or a pair of them, and I shall respect you more. Confess that it was the voice of Basil Bainrothe I heard at my cabin-door, and that Captain Van Dorne was imposed upon by that specious scoundrel, even to the point of being conscientiously compelled to falsehood.
"I deny nothing—I acknowledge nothing," she said, deliberately. "You and your friends can settle this between yourselves when they arrive. Until then, you need not seek to tamper with me—it will be useless; and I hope you are too much of a lady to be insulting to a person who has no choice but to do her duty."
She could not more effectually have silenced me, nor more utterly have crushed my hopes. Yet again I approached her with entreaties.
"I hope you will not refuse to mail my notes, even under these trying circumstances," I said, extending them to her.
"You can ask Dr. Englehart to do so when he comes," he answered, gently; "for myself, I am utterly powerless to serve you beyond the walls of this chamber."
"And how long is this close immurement to continue?" I asked again, after another dreary pause. "Am I not permitted to breathe the external air—to exercise? Is my health to be unconsidered?"
"I know nothing more than I have told you," she replied. "I am directed to furnish you with every means of comfort—with books, flowers, clothing, musical instrument, even, if you desire it; but, for the present, you will not leave these walls, and you will see no society. The doctor has decided that this is best."
"And whence did he derive his authority?"