“Ogilvie, she is in a state of great excitement—I hope you will set her mind at rest. I tell her she shall be forced to nothing. You are not the man, though you may be a little careless, to permit any tyranny over your child.”
“Me, careless! You are civil,” said the father. “Just you recollect, John Moubray, that I will have no interference—if you were the minister ten times over, and her uncle to the boot. I am well able to look after my own family and concerns. Effie, go home.”
Effie said nothing; but she stood still clinging to her uncle’s arm. She would not advance though he tried to draw her towards the gate, nor would she make any reply: she wound her arms about his, and held him fast. She had carried him along with the force of her young passion; but he could not move her. Her brain was whirling, her whole being in the wildest commotion. Her intelligence had partially given way, but her power of resistance was strong.
“Effie,” he said softly, “come home. My dear, you must let your father see what is in your mind. How is he to learn if you will not tell him? Effie! for my part, I will do whatever you please,” he said in a low tone in her ear. “I promise to go to him if you wish it—only obey your father and come home.”
“Go home this moment to your mother,” Mr. Ogilvie repeated. “Is this a time to be wandering about the world? She may just keep her mind to herself, John Moubray. I’ll have nothing to say to women’s quarrels, and if you are a wise man you will do the same. Effie, go home.”
Effie paused a moment between the two, one of whom repulsed her, while the other did no more than soothe and still her excitement as best he could. She was not capable of being soothed. The fire and passion in her veins required an outlet. She was so young, unaccustomed to emotion. She would not yield to do nothing, that hard part which women in so many circumstances have to play.
Suddenly she loosed her arms from that of the minister, and without a word, in an instant, before anything could be said, darted away from them into the gathering night.
CHAPTER XXI.
“We were just bringing her back. No doubt she has darted in at the side door—she was always a hasty creature—and got into her own room. That’s where ye will find her. I cannot tell you what has come over the monkey. She is just out of what little wits she ever had.”
“I can tell very well what has come over her,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “She is just wild that I have interfered, which it was my clear duty to do. If she had been heart and soul in the matter it would have been different—but she was never that. These old cats at Rosebank, they thought there was nobody saw it but themselves; but I saw it well enough.”