“Money you said!” he shouted, “and money it shall be! Ten thousand pounds, or I’ll give you away, so that every man and woman in Starden will count ’emselves your betters! I’ll give you away to the poor fool you think you are going to marry! There won’t be any wedding. I’ll swear a man couldn’t marry a thing—with such a name as I shall give you! Money, yes! you’ll pay! I want ten thousand pounds! Not five, remember, but ten, and perhaps more to follow. And if you don’t pay, there won’t be many who will not have heard about your imaginary marriage to that dog, Hugh Alston.”
The girl drew a deep shuddering sigh. She pressed her hands over her breast. From the shadows about the old barn a deeper shadow moved, something vaulted the gate lightly and came down with a thud on the ground beside Mr. Philip Slotman.
“Joan,” said a voice, “you will go away and leave this man to me. I will attend to the paying of him.”
Slotman turned, his rage gone, a cold sweat of fear bursting out on his forehead; his loose jaw sagged.
“A—a trap,” he gasped.
“To catch a rat! And the rat is caught! Joan, go. I will follow presently.”
No word passed between the two men as they watched the girl’s figure down the road. She walked slowly; once she seemed to hesitate as though about to turn back. And it was in her mind to turn back, to plead for mercy for this man, this creature. Yet she did not. She flung her head up. No, she would not ask for mercy for him: Hugh Alston was just.
So in silence they watched her till the darkness had swallowed her.
“So you refused to accept my warning, Slotman?”
“I—I refuse to have anything to do with you. It is no business of yours, kindly allow me—”