“No!” flashed out the girl, “neither with you, nor Kemm, nor anybody else. The Abbey’s mine now, and I won’t have it used for smuggling, Mr. Heritage.”
Robert started violently, and his hand shook as he played with his riding-whip.
“You are ready to accuse your own father of doing wrong then?”
“I don’t make any accusations, Mr. Heritage. I only tell you that the Abbey is under my rule, now.”
“You think so, perhaps; but you will find yourself mistaken. The trade will go on just the same whatever orders you may give; and it will make no difference if I have to go away, and if my cousin Dick, who brought you in out of the snow and was so good to you, has to starve.”
Freda moved uneasily and shot a furtive glance at Dick, who was outside the old walls, apparently absorbed in unpleasant thoughts. Robert perceived the expression on the girl’s face, its coy pity and maidenly fear. This vein, so happily struck, would bear a little further working, he thought.
“Yes,” he went on. “Poor Dick! It has always been his lot to have a rough time of it. When he told me this morning of the impression you had made upon him, and asked me to put in a word for him with you if I got a chance, I knew it would be of no use. Not that he isn’t a good-looking, good-hearted fellow enough, but because he is Dick, and never has any luck!”
The girl’s face underwent many changes as she listened to this speech. Compassion, surprise, pleasure, confusion, annoyance—all flitted over her ingenious countenance, until at the end, suddenly perceiving that Robert’s small light eyes were fixed upon her with great intentness, she blushed and turned away from him even haughtily.
“I do not believe that he asked you to speak to me!” she said.
“You don’t? Well, I’ll fetch him and make him speak for himself.”