“You mean about—” began the squire in faltering tones.
“I mean about my daughter, sir! This gentleman,” and he turned to Henderson, “has come to me this morning with a fine tale; he says my girl is living in London, and that your nephew has placed her there.”
For a moment or two no one spoke. Mr. Churchill was looking indignantly at John Temple, and the dark flush on Henderson’s face had deepened, while his eyes also were fixed with an angry scowl on Temple.
“John,” said the squire, in a firmer voice, after a brief silence; “you hear what Mr. Churchill says; is this charge true or false?”
John Temple looked slowly round at each man in turn.
“I decline to answer any questions on the subject,” he said, in a clear, firm voice.
“But I’ve a right to ask questions on the subject, sir!” almost shouted Mr. Churchill, angrily. “This girl, my daughter, disappeared from her home and nothing has been heard of her since; and now I hear she is writing to you in a way that if she isn’t married to you she ought to be.”
“I admit your right to ask questions, Mr. Churchill,” answered John Temple, still firmly; “but I have no right to betray the secrets of others. And if this spy,” and his eyes kindled, and he stretched out his arm in the direction of Henderson, “has already told you so much, he had better tell you more.”
“You dare to call me a spy, sir!” cried Henderson, in a voice hoarse with passion.