“You wrong Miss Una,” said Stephen, smoothly. “Not a day passes but she inquires for you and deplores your absence——”
“But,” went on Gideon, as if he had not been interrupted, “I have not forgotten her, nor my promise to her mother. In a weak moment, moved by your threats more than your persuasions, I consented to part with her, but I would rather she were dead than that should happen—which you say will happen.”
“Pardon me,” said Stephen, blandly, and with an evil smile. “I said that Mr. Newcombe had fallen in love with her; I did not say that he would marry her. I would rather she were dead than that should happen,” and he turned his face for one moment to the light.
It was pale even to the lips, the eyes gleaming with resolute purpose.
Gideon Rolfe looked at him in silence for a moment.
“I do not understand,” he said, in a troubled voice.
“Let me make it clear to you,” said Stephen. “Against my will and wish these two have met and become acquainted. Against my will and wish that acquaintance has ripened into”—he drew a long breath as if the word hurt him—“into love, or what they mistake for love. Thus far it has gone, but it must go no further. I am at one with you there. You and I must prevent it. You cannot do it alone, you know. You have no control over Miss Una; you who are not her father and in no way related to her.”
Gideon Rolfe set his teeth hard.
“You see,” said Stephen, with a haggard smile, “alone you are helpless. Be sure of that. If you move in the matter without me, I will declare the secret of her birth. Stop! be calm! But you and I can put an end to this engagement.”
“They are engaged?” muttered Gideon Rolfe.