The cool, matter-of-fact manner in which this atrocious proposition was made, showed how business-like the villain considered it. But Aylesford, though he would not have hesitated, as Arrison knew from the past, if the victim had been some poor and friendless girl, revolted at such an outrage on Kate. His face flushed with anger, and he partially rose from his seat. But recollecting immediately that Arrison was not in love like himself, and that the customs of his country had accustomed the refugee to look on such abductions leniently, he resumed his place, while the red tint of passion faded from his brow. But he shook his head.
“No, we’ll stick to the other plan,” he said. “I won’t woo Kate in that fashion, if I never get her, so help me God,” he added, earnestly.
“Just as you say. But I meant no offence,” answered Arrison.
“I believe you” replied Aylesford. “But, apart from every other consideration, my cousin is not the girl to be won in that fashion. She would, I am convinced, kill herself sooner than yield; and even if she was prevented, by force, from injuring herself, she’d hate me to her dying day. No, it would be madness.”
“I think you’re mistaken,” answered Arrison. “I know women better than you do, if you have such notions of them. Their bark is worse than their bite. There’d doubtless be a great tearing of hair, any amount of screeching, vows to starve herself to death, to stab herself, to kill you, perhaps even to turn informer; but she’ll be at last, as they always are in Ireland, as gentle as a lamb, and would crawl to your knees, if necessary, to beg you to make an honest woman of her by marrying—”
He was not allowed to finish the sentence. There was still enough that was good left in Aylesford, or, if not this, love had temporarily bestowed it on him, to make his blood boil at the cool deliberation with which this hardened villain spoke. He sprang from his chair, half drew his sword, and exclaimed—
“Are you man or devil? Another word like that, and I’ll run you through. Miss Aylesford,” he added, haughtily, “is not to be spoken of, sirrah, in this diabolical way.”
Arrison, on seeing him rise, had sprang also to his feet, knocking down the chair behind him and retreating a few paces, while at the same time he whipped out a knife, whose blade gleamed as he held it ready to strike. For awhile, the two men stood regarding each other, without a word being uttered. At last the outlaw spoke—
“Put back your sword, Mr. Aylesford, and I’ll sheathe my knife. You really are not yourself any longer. I don’t know how to talk to you. Every word seems to anger you to-day. We’ve often spoke of women—well, well,” he continued, observing Aylesford’s quick frown, “enough of that. I only seek your good. I’ll say nothing more about the lady, except to tell you my original plan, and to swear by all that’s good, that I never thought to insult you or her.”
Had Aylesford been less accustomed to his present associate, or even perhaps had he been less eager to secure Arrison’s co-operation, he would have broken off the interview. But he allowed himself again to be soothed, and, replacing his sword, took his seat.