“Of whom else do you suppose I think, Herr ——” but Selaka could not bring himself to pronounce the false name, and his tongue shrank with violent repugnance from the other.
“Drop the name,” Gustav implored, seeing his hesitation.
“I do not doubt your tender regard for her, but I do most emphatically deny that it is possible for you to see the position with the eyes of youth. Oh, I understand. You deem me jealous. If that were all. Nay, then it would be worse, for I should doubt her. And I do not. I could answer for her with my life. You are driving her to an ignoble compliance. You wish her to be safe from me.”
“You have guessed rightly. I shall not feel secure until she has passed into other hands—hands that will bind her and you with stronger fetters than mine.”
“Oh, how wrong you are! How you misjudge me! Have I tried to write to her, to see her? Yesterday we met,—we did not even touch hands, we said no word.”
It was Selaka’s turn to start.
“She did not tell me,” he muttered. “To-day she met me with a troubled aspect, and prayed to be taken away.”
“Poor child! Why will you make it harder for her? Have you the heart to grieve her so? Why, oh, why put this heavy burden on the young shoulders you should cherish? I will not harass you. I will not thwart your plans.”
“You are talking complete nonsense,” Selaka responded, testily. “A father must marry his daughter, if only to feel she will be protected after his death.”
“Protected! Inarime unprotected! You madden me. But for myself I do not complain;—nay, I do most bitterly. Kyrie Selaka, is this your last word?”