“But could you not fly with me again? We set out once, did we not, my little Letty? It can be done again — this time with a difference.”
“No, no, I won’t!”
“Not even to save your father?” persuaded Mr Markham.
Miss Letty’s bosom rose and fell quickly. “If you forced me — if you did such a wicked thing, sir — I should hate you all the rest of my life! Do you want a wife who loathes you?”
Mr Markham laughed indulgently. “You’ll soon get over that when we are married, my dear. Won’t you care for me a little when I give you this letter to burn?”
She stretched out her hand. “Give it to me now, sir, and indeed, indeed, I shall never think hardly of you again!”
“On our wedding day,” said Markham. “Not before, but just as soon as my ring is on your finger.”
“It will never, never be there,” she declared, bursting into tears.
It took Mr Markham twenty minutes to convince her that she was sending her papa to the gallows-tree by such unreasonable behaviour. She struggled and wept; she cried that she would tell papa all about it, and he would talk to my Lord Bute, and all would be well. Mr Markham said that it would not be in my Lord Bute’s power to assist Sir Humphrey, even if he wanted to, which was hardly possible. Sir Humphrey had written treasonable matter in this letter. Surely Letty knew what that meant?
She did; the very thought of it drove the blood from her face. Desperately she cast around in her mind for some source of help.