“But why, papa?”
“I don’t know; I have never liked him from the first. There! that’s enough. You must be my Lady Rivers. Poor old Tom is on his last legs.”
“Papa, I never will be.”
“Listen, Eliza. I had one trouble with Katherine; I will not have another with you. She defied me; she left my home rebelliously to enter upon one of her own setting-up: what came of it? Did luck attend her? Do you be more wise.”
“Father,” she said, moving a step forward with head uplifted; and the resolute, haughty look which rendered their faces so much alike was very conspicuous on hers, “do not let us oppose each other. Perhaps we can each give way a little? I have promised to be the wife of Philip Hamlyn, and that promise I will fulfil. You wish me to live near you: well, he can take a place in this neighbourhood and settle down in it; and on my part, I will promise you not to leave this country. He may have to go from time to time to the West Indies; I will remain at home.”
Captain Monk looked steadily at her before he answered. He marked the stern, uncompromising expression, the strong will in the dark eyes and in every feature, which no power, not even his, might unbend. He thought of his elder daughter, now lying in her grave; he thought of his son, so soon to be lying beside her; he did not care to be bereft of all his children, and for once in his hard life he attempted to conciliate.
“Hark to me, Eliza. Give up Hamlyn—I have said I don’t like the man; give up Tom Rivers also, as you will. Remain at home with me until a better suitor shall present himself, and Leet Hall and its broad lands shall be yours.”
She looked up in surprise. Leet Hall had always hitherto gone in the male line; and, failing Hubert, it would be, or ought to be, Harry Carradyne’s. Though she knew not that any steps had already been taken in that direction.
“Leet Hall?” she exclaimed.
“Leet Hall and its broad lands,” repeated the Captain impatiently. “Give up Mr. Hamlyn and it shall all be yours.”