“I know that it is in vain to appeal to you as I would to an honourable man,” continued Sir Murray, pale with rage, “and here you drive me to my last resource; for sooner than that weak, drivelling girl should be your wife, I would see her in her coffin! But I have no need for that: plastic as wax in your hands, she can be plastic as clay in mine. I can mould her to my wishes, in spite of all you have done. I can treat you in the same way, even to making you give her up—now, at once, before you leave this ground. I have kept this shaft for the last, wishing to try all else first; and had I had to deal with an honourable man—with an officer and gentleman,” he said sarcastically, “this shaft would never have been loosed.”
“Look here, Sir Murray Gernon,” exclaimed Brace, now thoroughly roused, “I am a frank, plain-spoken sailor. The deck of a man-of-war is no school for polish and etiquette; but I tell you this to your teeth, that you know that what you have said to me this day is a base, calumnious tissue of cruelty, such as no gentleman should have uttered. Nay, it is my turn now; I listened to you in silence, you shall hear me. You know my father to be an honourable man; you know, too, that my love for your child has been the result of no plotting and planning, but of circumstances alone. You know how accident has thrown us together, and before Heaven I vow that man never loved woman with a purer—a holier love. I say it now before you, without shame, without fear, for I am proud of it—proud, too, of knowing that my love is returned. Do you, with all your pride, imagine that young hearts are to be directed here or there according to your wish or whim? You know better; and that we cannot govern ourselves in such matters. I leave here for sea in a few days’ time, and I tell you what I have told her; that I bind her by no promises, that I ask nothing, merely time—time to clear away these clouds that overshadow our youth—”
“Have you nearly finished?” exclaimed Sir Murray, interrupting him; and his old mocking smile appeared upon his face.
“Yes,” said Brace, sadly; “I have done, Sir Murray. I hope some day that you will know me better. But I tell you this: that so long as life is in me I’ll never give her up; and, what is more,” he added fiercely, “I know she will be true to me, even without the tie of promise or troth!”
“I told you that this was my last arrow, and I fly it reluctantly,” hissed Sir Murray, as he leaned towards the young man; “before I loose the string, I ask you will you give up all pretension to the hand of that child?”
“No!” exclaimed Brace.
“It is an arrow whose flight will be sharp and aim sure, young man. I warn you that it will quiver in your heart, and its barbs will rankle there for life. Once more, will you give her up, and come here no more?”
“No!”
“Will you not for your mothers sake? But there, I know the baseness of your heart. Isa Gernon, and the prospect of Merland Castle and its many acres, are not to be given up so easily. I knew your answer; but, in a fit of madness, I thought I would give you, as you are young, one chance of playing the honourable man. You will not give her up, then?”
“No—no! Are you a demon? Why do you tempt me like this?” cried Brace.