"I do think of it, my darling, and I believe I am saying what your father himself would have said. The circumstances of the case are strange, as you are left with a lot of money and without a protector. You know I love you for yourself, and would take you without a penny, but unless we marry soon, and you give me a husband's right, you will be pestered by people wanting to marry you." Paul thought of Grexon Hay when he made this last remark.
"But I wouldn't listen to them," cried Sylvia, with a flush, "and Debby would soon send them away. I love you dearest, dear."
"Then marry me next month," said Paul, promptly. "You can't stop here in this dull house, and it will be awkward for you to go about with Deborah, faithful though she is. No, darling, let us marry, and then we shall go abroad for a year or two until all this sad business is forgotten. Then I hope by that time to become reconciled to my father, and we can visit Wargrove."
Sylvia reflected. She saw that Paul was right, as her position was really very difficult. She knew of no lady who would chaperon her, and she had no relative to act as such. Certainly Deborah could be a chaperon, but she was not a lady, and Pash could be a guardian, but he was not a relative. Paul as her husband would be able to protect her, and to look after the property which Sylvia did not think she could do herself. These thoughts made her consent to an early marriage. "And I really don't think father would have minded."
"I am quite sure we are acting as he would wish," said Beecot, decisively. "I am so thankful, Sylvia sweetest, that I met you and loved you before you became an heiress. No one can say that I marry you for anything save your own sweet self. And I am doubly glad that I am to marry you and save you from all the disagreeable things which might have occurred had you not been engaged to me."
"I know, Paul. I am so young and inexperienced."
"You are an angel," said he, embracing her. "But there's one thing we must do"—and his voice became graver—"we must see Pash and offer a reward for the discovery of the person who killed your father."
"But Mr. Pash said let sleeping dogs lie," objected Sylvia.
"I know he did, but out of natural affection, little as your poor father loved you, we must stir up this particular dog. I suggest that we offer a reward of five hundred pounds."
"To whom?" asked Sylvia, thoroughly agreeing.