“Ah, then, it was Cinthia you lifted into the sleigh. Is she hurt?”
“It was not Cinthia, but an unconscious woman I found in the road.”
“If Cinthia is unconscious, so much the better. We will have no scene with her in transferring her to my charge, and she will not hear what I must say to you.”
“Speak on, sir,” Arthur answered most bitterly in his keen resentment. And Mr. Dawn began:
“I think very hardly of you, Arthur Varian, for disregarding my words to you this morning. I said frankly to you that reasons of the gravest import forbid the marriage of yourself and Cinthia.”
“I had a right to be informed of those reasons, sir,” Arthur said, hotly.
“Say you so? Then go to your mother, Arthur Varian, and ask of her the reason why my daughter can never be your wife!”
Arthur started in surprise that this man should know aught of his mother, but answered, quickly:
“She can not know anything against it, since only this morning she gave her pleased consent.”
“She knows better now; and I say again, go to her and ask her for the truth,” replied Everard Dawn, as he stepped out of the sleigh to take possession of Cinthia.