"No, no." exclaimed Mr. Ingelow, starting up. "Not yet! Open the mysteries a little before you depart. I'm willing and ready to aid you to the best of my ability. Tell me what I'm to do, and I'll do it."
"I have nothing to tell," Miriam said, steadfastly. "I will not put you to the trouble of helping me."
"But you must!" cried the artist, suddenly transforming himself into a new man. "If Mollie Dane is really in danger, then I must know, and aid her. No one has a better right, for no one on earth loves her as well as I do."
"Ha!" exclaimed Miriam, stopping short. "We have it at last, have we? You love her, then?"
"With all my heart, and mind, and strength; as I never have loved, and never will love, any other earthly creature. Now, then, sit down here and tell me, from first to last, what you came here to tell."
He wheeled forward a chair, took the woman by both shoulders, and compelled her to be seated. His face was very pale, his eyes alight, his statuesque mouth stern, and set, and powerful.
Miriam looked at him with dawning admiration and respect. The man that makes them obey is the man women are pretty safe to adore.
"Now, then," he said—"now, Madame Miriam, I want you to begin at the beginning and tell me all. If Mollie Dane is above ground, I will find her."
The woman looked up in his handsome face, locked in grim, inflexible resolution—an iron face now—and relaxed.
"Mollie was not deceived in you, after all. I am glad of it, I like you. I would give a year of my life to see you safely her husband."