“Because I won’t!” said Annella, giving him the “woman’s reason” without an instant’s hesitation.
“Miss Wilder,” began Malcolm, in a grave, sorrowful tone, “I greatly fear that in your beautiful devotion to Eudora, your zeal in her behalf, and your total inexperience of the world, you are about to rush into some ruinous enterprise that may destroy yourself without saving that poor, sweet girl.”
“Well?” inquired Annella, looking up anxiously and defiantly.
“Under these circumstances, I doubt whether it is not my duty to go to the Anchorage, and advise your friends there to take better care of you than they seem to be doing,” answered Montrose, gravely.
Annella jumped to her feet with a rebound that wrung like steel springs on the floor, confronted him, and flashed-sheet-lightning from her eyes, as she exclaimed:
“If you dare! If you dare, Mr. Montrose! I will do you some deadly mischief! I will, as the Lord in Heaven hears me; for I am not good, I tell you! I am bad! I have black blood in my veins, wherever I could have got it!”
While Malcolm gazed in astonishment upon her, her mood suddenly changed. The fire died out of her eyes, her arms dropped by her sides, and her voice lowered, as she said:
“But—pshaw! I am a fool to threaten you; you would not mind what mischief anyone might do you. But I will give you a reason for your silence that you must mind—Eudora’s safety! Mr. Montrose, I was wrong to boast so much to you of my own secret certainty of success, especially as I refused to confide to you the grounds of that certainty.”
“Will you confide them to me now, Annella?” inquired Montrose, kindly.
“No! and a thousand times no! but still—”