Lovel looked at her, and laughed in an ugly manner. "As to that, my dear girl," he said with a sneer, "I hope it may be true. I would rather see you dead than the wife of Squire Herne!"
"You cruel wretch!" cried Milly, vehemently. "Why--why?"
"In the first place, because I love you; in the second, because Herne, the Apostle of the Higher Culture, is an unprincipled blackguard!"
"Darcy! Mr. Herne!"
"Yes. Oh, I have heard tales about him in London!"
"What kind of tales?
"Tales of profligacy. He uses his name here to cloak his London wickednesses."
"I don't believe it," cried Miss Lester after a pause. "He is too good a man to be wicked. I don't love him, but I respect him. And if he is as wicked as you say," added Milly, with an afterthought, "he wouldn't be the friend of Mr. Chaskin."
"The Rev. Francis Chaskin," sneered Lovel, "who was an officer of the army before he became a vicar in the Church. Oh, I know all about him!"
"Is he bad also?"