'And all this has come of my own folly at Eaglescraig! damme, I'll—I'll—choke!' added the general, pale with anger, and feeling awkwardly conscious of the futility of it, with a genuine and honest fear of the future, through his unjust ideas of Cecil Falconer's character.
'Dear old grand-uncle, you have been more than a father to me, ever since I was a tiny tot, just so high,' said Mary, holding a little white hand about six inches from the carpet; 'and you must pardon me for all this—for Cecil does so love me,' she urged with tears, 'most tenderly and truly.'
'Folly—folly, all! has life, has position, no other claim on you than that? One born of such lineage as ours,' he continued, vaulting on his hobby-horse, 'requires to consider matters deeply. Disobey me, and I hand over your fortune to Hew; it shall never be made ducks and drakes of by a gambler and adventurer! By your father's will (how often am I to tell you this?) it is absolutely in my power to disinherit you, if you wed without my consent.'
'A most cruel and illegal will!'
'Devised to save you from yourself, and with a strange prevision of that which was to come.'
'Unjust! why should the dead be so loth to lose their grasp on, their power over, the living?'
'Your father's great dread was fortune-hunters, lest you should be sought—as Falconer seeks you—for your money. Moreover, if this young fellow really loves you, child, he ought to think more of your happiness than daring to seek your hand.'
'Daring?'
'Yes, I say so, considering his origin! You are a romantic little goose! But girls in your position must not think of men in his.'
'Were you not a captain once?' asked Mary, softly.