"Your sister must have lost her reason," said Van Dam, approaching
Zell.
"Stand back," cried Edith sternly. "I may go mad before this hateful night passes, but while I have strength and reason left, I will drive the wolves from our fold. Answer me this: have you not been proposing secret marriage to my sister?"
Her face looked spirit-like in the pale moonlight, and her eyes blazed like coals of fire. As she stood there with her arm around her bewildered, trembling sister, she seemed a guardian angel holding a baffled fiend at bay.
This was literally true, for even hardened Van Dam quailed before her, and took refuge in the usual resource of his satanic ally—lies.
"I assure you, Miss Edith, you do me great injustice. I have only asked your sister that our marriage be private for a time—"
"The same wretched bait—the same transparent falsehood," Edith cried. "We cannot be married openly at our own home, but must go away with you, two spotless knights, to New York. Do you take us for silly fools? You know well what the world would say of ladies that so compromised themselves, and no true man would ask this of a woman he meant to make his wife. These premises are mine. Leave them."
Van Dam was an old villain who had lived all his life in the atmosphere of brawls and intrigue, therefore he said brazenly:
"There is no use in wasting words on an angry woman. Zell, my darling, do me justice. Don't give me up, as I never shall you," and he vanished on the road toward the village, where Gus was skulking on before him.
"You weak, unmitigated fool," said he savagely, "why did I bring you?"
"Look here, Van Dam," whined Gus, "that isn't the way to speak to a gentleman."