“Then you are Imogene, the daughter of old Lear, the Tory?” he exclaimed.
These words were uttered in a much different key. A strong, manly voice had taken the place of the weak, wheezing tone of the old man. The hot blood mantled the brow of Imogene, as she quickly retorted to this seemingly insulting language:
“Though Thomas Lear should be a supporter of the king’s cause, his daughter, at least, should be free from insult. He is my father, and I wish not to hear his name spoken of in so wanton and disrespectful a manner. I have directed you to a harbor of safety, where you may find a place of rest, and provide for your wants. If you wish to avail yourself of my offer you may do so, but you must use your own discretion in the matter. I have already tarried too long—I must depart.”
“A word with you, Miss Lear, for such you have acknowledged yourself to be, before you go,” replied the stranger; and drawing nearer to Imogene, he whispered, in a subdued undertone, a few words which seemed to make her recoil with an expression of horror.
“Away, vile wretch! Is it thus you would repay my kindness? Begone!” She cast upon him such a look of disgust and contempt that he seemed to writhe under her stinging rebuff.
“You reject, then, my offer?” he replied.
“I refuse to parley with such a despicable creature. Make way; I must leave this spot.”
“Not quite so fast, young lady. I wish to allow you a moment to reconsider your decision,” returned the old man without moving from his position in the center of the path.
“You have heard my answer.”
“You persist in your refusal?