"Have you not received my letter?" she breathed.
"No," said Fitz, thrusting his hands into his pocket. "Perhaps it is here; I haven't opened them yet. Oh, Violet, you have not refused me; you don't mean to make me miserable for life! Don't say it, don't say it!"
"I have written it," said Violet, paler and paler each moment. "I have written a full explanation. It cannot be; it is forever impossible. Lord Boisdale—Fitz, I am to marry Mr. Murpoint."
"What?" exclaimed Fitz, "am I dreaming—am I mad? Violet, you are to marry the captain!"
Violet rose.
"Let me leave you, my lord! I am so sorry that my letter"—then she turned and tried to leave the room.
But Fitz strode after her and seized her arm.
"Violet," he said, "one word more. I see I am not dreaming, that it's truth you are telling me. But if it is true there is villainy somewhere! You are right to reprove me. Heaven knows I am not worthy of you—but the captain!
"Violet, if Leicester could come to life again, I would have yielded to him quietly, without a word, for I know you were his. But not to the captain! You never did and you never can care for him, and if you marry him it will be against your will. Violet, listen to me, I implore you. I believe—I am sure within my own heart that the captain, Howard Murpoint, is a rogue and a villain."
"Silence!" said Violet, sadly, yet indignantly. "You forget yourself, my lord! You have no right to say such cruel things, to attack an absent man. Mr. Murpoint will be my husband, and I will not—I dare not listen to such a groundless accusation. Enough! Not a word more. Leave me, I beg, my lord!"