Mr. Lynn turned his flushed face and clouded brow to Esther,—
"Perhaps you will tell my daughter," he said, with an air of insolent hauteur as though speaking to a servant,—"that I desire her to put on her things and leave this house with me, immediately—"
How changed his manner, from the kind and paternal tone, in which he had addressed her an hour before!
Esther keenly felt the change, and with her woman's intuition, divined that a revelation of the fatal truth had been made. Disguising her emotion, she said, calmly,—
"You will direct one of the servants to do your bidding. Your daughter is doubtless in the library. I saw her going there, with Randolph, only a few minutes since,—"
At the name of Randolph, all the rage which shook the muscular frame of Bernard Lynn, and which he had but illy suppressed, burst forth unrestrained.
"What!" he shouted, "with Randolph! The negro! The negro! The slave!"
"With Randolph, her plighted husband," calmly responded Esther.
"Negress!" sneered Bernard Lynn, almost beside himself, "where is my daughter? Will no one call her?"
"Eleanor is coming," said a low deep voice, and Randolph stood before the enraged father. He was ashy pale, but there was a light in his eyes which can be called by no other name than—infernal.