“Still,” continued the brute, “you wrong me in attributing the origin of that report to me. I was not certain that the woman I saw that evening was you, though it is true I noted the resemblance. On my word of honor, Miss Moreland, I have not opened my mouth until this moment concerning that of which I chanced to be a witness. There are several others who have seen the same thing that I saw, and have been gossiping about it at a fearful rate. The story has been related to me fifty times, perhaps, and, although I have cursed the gabbling idiots, and formed numberless excuses in your defense, they only laugh at my skepticism and declare that I am in love. Believe me, I have tried to be your friend through this ordeal, and I feel that I am only doing the duty of a friend in letting you know to what a humiliating extent you are being imposed upon.”
Having relieved himself of this speech, McCabe fancied he had said the right thing in the right place, and looked vastly important as he awaited an answer. Isabel composed herself with difficulty, but when she spoke again it was quite calmly.
“Does my father know of this?” she asked.
“He does. Both your father and mother have been repeatedly told of it, if I am rightly informed.”
The girl was silent again.
“Miss Moreland,” pursued the profligate, taking a step nearer, “I have told you how firmly I have espoused your cause, and proved myself your devoted friend through all. I am certain that you have the best of reasons for meeting this so-called stranger—a reason which, although it is sufficient to excuse you from censure, you are not yet at liberty to divulge. Darling, I am the only one who has faith in your innocence. I know you are too good, too pure—”
“Cease your mockery, villain!” cried Isabel, her whole manner changing in an instant. “Leave me at once, and see that you never open your foul mouth to address me again! I have been blind heretofore, but I now see your object in lionizing yourself in my presence! Be off! I hate you! I loathe you!”
Jim McCabe was somewhat taken aback by this outburst. Passion getting the best of him, his face became livid; he clenched his hands involuntarily, and gnashed his teeth like a maddened brute.
“Go, execrable wretch!” commanded Isabel. “I see my father coming; take yourself off immediately, or I shall ask him to assist you.”
“Your father, indeed,” laughed McCabe, in a sort of ecstasy of rage. “Little does he now care for his deceitful, perfidious daughter. He won’t think it possible for anybody to insult her after all that has been revealed to him. Listen, Isabel Moreland; I leave you now at your command, but, mark my word, two days shall not pass away before we meet again; and you will be in my power!”