Daniel Barnett, who was quivering with jealous rage, expected to see the bailiff’s daughter spring to her feet, flushed with shame and dread, at being surprised in such a position, but to his astonishment she hardly stirred, merely raising her head a little to look gently and sadly in her father’s face as she said—
“I have come to bid poor John Grange good-bye.”
“Without my leave!” stormed Ellis, “and like this. Mary! Shameless girl, have you taken leave of your senses?”
She smiled at him sadly, and shook her head.
“Disgraceful!” cried Ellis. “What will Mr Barnett—what will every one think of your conduct?”
He caught her hand in his rage, and drew her sharply away as he turned to John Grange.
“And you, sir, what have you to say? Your weakness and injury are no excuse. Everything possible has been done for you. We have all worked for you, and tried to lighten your affliction; even now I have come with Mr Barnett to see you off, and I find my kindness returned by a cruel, underhanded, cowardly blow.”
“Mr Ellis,” began John, with his pale face flushing and his dark eyes wandering as he tried to fix them upon the speaker’s face.
“Silence, sir! How dare you! How long has this disgraceful business been going on?”
“Oh, father, father!” cried Mary, clinging to him; “pray, pray say no more. We are not alone.”