Lester looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes past eight o'clock!" he growled; "and you let her gad about at this hour! No doubt she is with Lovel now!"
"I should not be at all surprised," said Iris, coldly.
"Good Lord! how coolly you speak!" raged the doctor, setting down his empty glass and filling it again. "Don't you know that if Herne hears of these things he'll break off the marriage!"
"I shouldn't blame him if he did."
"Rubbish! I tell you, if Milly loses Herne, everything will smash up. We can't hold out much longer. Herne has promised to pay all we owe and to lend me money. It all depends on Milly; yet you let her flirt with Lovel, and run the risk of ruining all. If Chaskin heard about this Lovel affair, he would tell Herne, and then--curse it!"--the doctor broke off hastily, and drank another glass of brandy--"I must do something!"
"You won't do much if you go on taking that!" said Iris pointedly.
"What is that to you, miss? Mind your own business! I shall drink as much as I please." He filled himself a third glass of brandy. "As for Lovel, if I catch him I'll trash the life out of him! Spoiling Milly's chance of a rich husband--I'll kill him before he does that. I shall lock her up, and you also, you--you----"
Not waiting to hear what he called her, Iris withdrew, sick at heart. She knew well enough that this was the commencement of a drinking bout, which would last three or four days. Did Lester meet his daughter in the company of Lovel while the drunken fit was on him, he was quite capable of proceeding to personal violence. Iris left the house hurriedly, with the intention of finding Milly, and bringing her home lest ill should befall. At that moment, with her miserable home, the burden of Milly's follies, and her own aching heart, the poor girl felt thoroughly ill and wretched.
On leaving Poverty Villa, she turned her steps towards the main street of the village, and wondered where she would find Milly. It was yet light, a kind of luminous twilight, with a star-sprinkled heaven, and a gentle breeze sighing amid the trees. Few people were about, as it was now about nine o'clock, and the majority of Barnstead folk were within doors, lingering over their suppers. Iris paced slowly along, her head aching with nervous pain, and her heart full of anxiety. When she arrived in the square where St. Dunstan's Church was situated she paused in utter helplessness, for she knew not in which direction to look for the truant; nor for very shame could she ask any of the passers-by if they had seen the girl. For the moment she was completely at a loss what to do.
Unexpectedly the chimes began to ring, and the clock of St. Dunstan's struck nine with slow and ponderous strokes. As Iris counted them idly, she fancied she heard the sharp sound of a distant shot, and, for the moment wondered who could be shooting at that late hour. But the deep tone of the church bell striking the hour confused her, and hearing no more shots she thought that she must have been dreaming. After a pause she pursued her way, and turned homeward.