"Swear to do as I wish!" he panted, desperately. "I demand that you do so. Swear to obey me implicitly, Beatrix Dane."
The beautiful eyes drooped for an instant. Surely he would exact no promise of her beyond her power to fulfill? Could a man—an old man—be so hard upon a poor, weak, timid creature—utterly defenseless—like herself? For she had yet to learn, poor ignorant child, that with some men "might makes right."
"I swear it, Uncle Bernard!" she said, slowly. "Now, kiss me, and say that you will love me a little!"
And she ventured to lay one small hand timidly upon his arm. With a hoarse, inarticulate cry he struck the little hand aside and started to his feet.
"Don't touch me!" he panted, wildly; "don't dare to touch me! Kiss you? I would sooner cut my own throat. Get away—away—out of my sight! Do you hear? No! Wait until I have told you what I wish you to do, and remember, Beatrix Dane, you have sworn to obey me. I have sent for you for a particular object; for that object I have had you reared and educated. The time has come to carry out my plan; it is this: I have sent for you, Beatrix Dane, to marry the man whom I have chosen for you—the son of my adoption. You must become his wife at the time I have appointed, or—you will wish that you had never been born!"
[CHAPTER VII.]
BETROTHED.
The days came and went with slow, monotonous round in the old brown, weather-beaten house where Keith Kenyon lay ill unto death. Mrs. Lynne scarcely left his bedside. She was a skillful nurse, and in this case she felt more than an ordinary interest, for she had come to look upon Keith as a prospective son-in-law. When he was a child—a little fatherless, motherless babe—he had been placed in care of Mrs. Lynne's sister to be reared. It was after he had grown to be a youth of fifteen that he had been formally adopted by an old man in New Orleans, of whose name Mrs. Lynne and Serena were both ignorant; they had only heard of the mere fact of his adoption. The years had come and gone, and although he wrote occasionally to Mrs. Lynne, and always inclosed a kindly message and sometimes a few written lines to Serena, he had never confided absolutely in them, and they had refrained from asking questions. Year after year he had written that he hoped to find an opportunity to visit his old friends; but heretofore he had found it impossible to keep his promise.