“I don’t understand,” I exclaimed.
“Why, Lord Ralles has been—has been—oh, he’s threatened that if I wouldn’t—that—”
“You mean he—?” I began, and then stopped, for I couldn’t believe my ears.
“Oh,” she burst out, “of course you couldn’t understand, and you probably despise me already, but if you knew how I scorn myself, Mr. Gordon, and what I have endured from that man, you would only pity me.”
Light broke on me suddenly. “Do you mean, Miss Cullen,” I cried hotly, “that he’s been cad enough to force his attentions upon you by threats?”
“Yes. First he made me endure him because he was going to help us, and from the moment the robbery was done, he has been threatening to tell. Oh, how I have suffered!”
Then I said a very silly thing. “Miss Cullen,” I groaned, “I’d give anything if I were only your brother.” For the moment I really meant it.
“I haven’t dared to tell any of them,” she explained, “because I knew they would resent it and make Lord Ralles angry, and then he would tell, and so ruin papa. It seemed such a little thing to bear for his sake, but, oh, it’s been—I suppose you despise me!”
“I never dreamed of despising you,” I said. “I only thought, of course—seeing what I did—and—that you were fond—No—that is—I mean—well—The beast!” I couldn’t help exclaiming.
“Oh,” said Madge, blushing, and stammering breathlessly, “you mustn’t think—there was really—you happened to—usually I managed to keep with papa or my brothers, or else run away, as I did when he interrupted my letter-writing,—when you thought we had—but it was nothing of the—I kept away just—but the night of the robbery I forgot, and on the trail his mule blocked the path. He never—there really wasn’t—you saved me the only times he—he—that he was really rude; and I am so grateful for it, Mr. Gordon.”