The low, regular, even tones stopped, and father and daughter sat close to each other in silence, each feeling the other's sympathy through their clasped hands. As they sat thus in the sweet summer night a clatter of hoofs jangled through the star-lit dark. They came from off to the right—from the direction in which the man lived of whom they were talking. The sound gathered rapidly in volume, and a moment or two later they heard a horse running furiously by on the highroad in front of them, going towards town. As the noise died away in the distance Julia pressed the Major's hand, but said nothing.
"It is he," spoke the father, in a voice of pronounced melancholy. "So his sire rode before him, killing on an average two horses every year. It seems the devil not only dwells in them, but is continually chasing them."
"What happened that night, daddy, when Mr. Marston came the last time? I saw him only in passing, and he looked nervous and angry."
"He was angry, little one. We ended it all in the library, but not until he had voluntarily torn away his mask. I would spare you this if I could—if you did not demand it."
Though it was dark Julia knew that he had turned to look at her.
"But I demand it—everything. You will not find me weak, for I am stronger than you know, daddy dear."
"He would not sit down, although I insisted that he take a chair, so our interview occurred with us both standing. He was quite restless, and frequently walked the entire length of the room, switching at his legs with his whip, which he always carries. I do not think I had ever seen him so disturbed—"
"I know all that, daddy; please come to the vital part at once."
The Major drew a deep breath, as though in preparation for some great exertion.
"He told me at the outset that he loved you, and that he wanted me to use my influence to gain your consent to marry him—damn him for a lying, mongrel cur!"