"Well, well, I do," said Ashwoode; "but how would you have me act?"
"Do not ask this man to prolong his visit," replied she; "or if he must, at least let me go elsewhere while he remains here."
"You have but one female relative in Ireland with a house to receive you," rejoined Ashwoode, "and that is Lady Stukely; and I have reason to think she would not like to have you as a guest just now."
"Dear Harry—dear brother, think of some place," said she, with earnest entreaty. "I now feel secure nowhere; that rude man, the very sight of whom affrights me, will not forbear to intrude upon my privacy; alone—in my own little room—anywhere in this house—I am equally liable to his intrusions and his rudeness. Dear brother, take pity on me—think of some place."
"Curse that beast Blarden!" muttered Sir Henry Ashwoode, between his teeth. "Will nothing ever teach the ruffian one particle of tact or common sense? What good end could he possibly propose to himself by terrifying the girl?"
Ashwoode bit his lips and frowned, while he thought the matter over. At length he said,—
"I shall speak to Blarden immediately. I begin to think that the man is not fit company for civilized people. I think we must get rid of him at whatever temporary inconvenience, without actual rudeness. Without anything approaching to a quarrel, I can shorten his visit. He shall leave this either to-night or before seven o'clock to-morrow morning."
"And you promise there shall be no quarrel—no violence?" urged she.
"Yes, Mary, I do promise," rejoined Ashwoode.
"Dear, dear brother, you have set my heart at rest," cried she. "Yes, you are my own dear brother—my protector!" And with all the warmth and enthusiasm of unsuspecting love, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed her betrayer.