“Madam!” he repeated, almost sputtering out his words, “you surely don’t wish me to expel you. You don’t intend to stand there all night. I can’t have it. I don’t allow people in my study. I am sorry to be discourteous to a lady, but I state a fact; you must go immediately. You don’t realize what it is to have a brain like mine, nor to have undertaken such a herculean task. Ah! the beautiful thought which meant so much has vanished. Madam, you are responsible.”
“Stop!” interrupted Miss Tredgold. “I will go the moment you do what I want.”
“Will you? I’ll do anything—anything that keeps you out of this room.”
“That is precisely what I require. I don’t wish to come into this room—that is, for the present. By-and-by it must be cleaned, for I decline to live in a dirty house; but I give you a fortnight’s grace.”
“And the rendering of the passage is beyond doubt, according to Clericus—— I beg your pardon; are you still speaking?”
“Yes, Henry. I am annoying you, I know; and, all things considered, I am glad, for you need rousing. I intend to sit or stand in this room, close to you, until morning if necessary. Ah! here is a chair.”
As Miss Tredgold spoke she drew forward an unwieldy arm-chair, which was piled up with books and papers. These she was calmly about to remove, when a shriek from the anguished scholar stopped her.
“Don’t touch them,” he exclaimed. “You destroy the work of months. If you must have a chair, take mine.”
Miss Tredgold did take it. She now found herself seated within a few yards of the scholar’s desk. The bright light from the lamp fell on her face; it looked pale, calm, and determined. Mr. Dale was in shadow; the agony on his face was therefore not perceptible.
“Take anything you want; only go, woman,” he said.