“She heard you say as much with pleasure, I 'm certain,” said Fagan, with a smile that was more than half a sneer.
“Nay, faith, Tony, I did not go so far. I praised her courage. I told her that not every man could have behaved so bravely.”
MacNaghten paused at this.
“And then—and then, sir,” cried Fagan, impatiently.
Dan turned suddenly towards him, and, to his amazement, beheld a countenance tremulous with passionate excitement.
“What then, sir? Tell me what then? I have a right to ask, and I will know it. I 'm her father, and I demand it.”
“Why, what in Heaven's name is the matter?” exclaimed MacNaghten. “I have told you she is safe,—that she is yonder.”
“I speak not of that, sir; and you know it,” cried Fagan, imperiously. “The dissimulation is unworthy of you. You ought to be a man of honor.”
“Egad, good temper would be the best quality for me just now,” said the other, with a smile; “for you seem bent on testing it.”
“I see it all,” cried Fagan, in a voice of anguish. “I see it all. Now hear me, Mr. MacNaghten. You are one who has seen much of the world, and will readily comprehend me. You are a man reputed to be kind-hearted, and you will not pain me by affecting a misunderstanding. Will you leave this to-morrow, and go abroad, say for a year or two? Give me your hand on it, and draw on me for one thousand pounds.”